Where Shadow Reigns
by purple-drake
Summary: [WIP] Kenshingumi have been drawn to Kyoto by a supernatural power, but soon find themselves out of their depth, caught in an unearthly war... and the one person with the strength to fight it has already been taken... lost to a place where Shadow reigns.
1. Smoke and Mirrors

**A/N:**_ Sooo. This fic is kind of weird… well, _very_ weird. It probably crosses the lines into fantasy, but I thought the supernatural genre suited it better._

_Long disclaimer though, sorry, but I won't be repeating it later on so… I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, obviously, plus there are some concepts in here which were inspired by other fanfic authors. For one, the concept of ki manifestation – that's from Justice Stryfe's 'the Sword of Seijuro Hiko'. The connection between Hiko and Kenshin is based off Unseen Watcher's 'Ties of Loyalty'. And there are some general concepts in here which were probably inspired by lolo popoki's 'Only the Beginning', though I wouldn't be able to pick them out specifically. All of them are Hiko stories, so (cough) you can probably guess the main characters in this fic, although everyone else do play a pretty big part. But anyway. Go read them, they're brilliant._

_I feel I should apologise to the people who dislike fangirl Japanese, since I use quite a bit of it, but sometimes Japanese suits better than English, ne? So the glossary's at the bottom. If you know the words, that's fine, just skip it._

_Also, there's some torture or near-torture scenes later on, just a warning, so…_

_Um… I think that's about all. (grimace) I'll try to keep my author's notes to a minimum in the future, promise._

_(EDITED)_

* * *

** I **

**SMOKE AND MIRRORS**

Flames crackled.

Hiko Seijuro stared at the flickering light, cradling a saucer of sake between his thumb and forefinger as he hunched over his seat on the log half-buried in the soil before the open furnace of his kiln. The red glow illuminated the lines of his thin face, shrouding his dark eyes almost ominously beneath his black bangs and making them glitter strangely with amber highlights.

Around him the night was silent aside from the chirp of insects and the slight rustle of leaves in the light wind, chilly because of the altitude and the evening. It was kind of late to be working, but Hiko wanted to get this last piece of pottery fired before he went to bed; he'd be able to paint and glaze it tomorrow with the others, and then it'd be ready to sell the day after.

At the moment, though, he wasn't really thinking about pottery. He rose out of his stupor every now and then to check the piece in question, but mostly his thoughts dwelt on subjects far different.

Like the incident with Shishio a while back. Like how his baka deshi had returned after all that time had passed. Like how he'd asked his help to protect those friends of his.

And how he'd left without saying goodbye.

Not in so many words, at least. Hiko had known that Kenshin was leaving, could sense him, just as he knew that Kenshin was aware of him as well. They needed no words for that.

No, what plagued Hiko's mind was the fact that lately… he'd been feeling almost lonely. In the years since Kenshin had abandoned him he had managed to build a shield around himself, pretending that he didn't care, that he didn't need people. For the most part, it was true; it was how he'd lived before Kenshin had become his apprentice. He had always valued solitude.

But even in the time just after Kenshin first left he had felt his loss keenly. It was easier that he could convince himself there was no chance of Kenshin returning; he knew that he wouldn't, and so he could pretend that his baka deshi was all but dead to him. It made the loneliness easier to bear, especially since, with the rise of Battousai, Hiko considered it truth.

But now that he knew Kenshin was alive and, if not unscarred, then not damned, it made it harder to be alone. There were some things that only another master of Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu could understand; some things only another _soldier_ could understand. Another killer. Another defender.

Another wanderer.

"Damn it," Hiko muttered to himself in disgust, downing the sake and reaching down to the clay jug near his booted feet for more. "Baka had to burst back into my life without so much as a by-your-leave. As though I would just drop everything to finish his training. As though he could use a matter of national security to convince me to teach him the succession technique."

The words were harsh, but half-hearted; they were things he'd thought in the first instances of hearing Kenshin's request, and now only aired as a matter of course. Hiko liked complaining, and Kenshin was one of his favourite topics only because he knew him so well.

As well as a father could know their own son.

"Of course, all those years of wandering –" he paused as though in thought, but his dark eyes moved sidelong, the saucer hovering halfway up to his lips.

_That presence is back._

"After all those years of wandering," he continued as though nothing had happened and he hadn't just sensed a ki appear at the edge of the clearing. "And of course his skills would be atrocious. Half of my lessons must have slipped his mind… or they were just knocked out of it."

It wasn't the first time, either; whoever – _what_ever – this thing was, it had been visiting him for days now. He wasn't even sure it was human – no human could reach his clearing without him sensing them coming halfway up the mountain, but _this_ presence always slid to life abruptly, like sap seeping from a wounded tree. It was subtle in a way no human could ever be.

"Yare yare, I can't believe how much he was relying on reaction time. The original Hiko Seijuro would be turning in his grave if he could see how badly that baka let himself lapse."

And it didn't _feel_ right. Just like it came to life, that was how it moved: leaching, crawling, almost suffocating.

No, not suffocating, not exactly. More like… shrouding. Clinging. Like a shadow.

And it was getting stronger.

_Kusai. This has gone far enough._

Gently he placed the saucer down on the time-smoothed trunk, closing his eyes against the glow of the fire and standing, his sweeping white mantle turned grey in the darkness, his hand gripping the saya at his waist in readiness. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" His voice was low, emotionless, directed towards the presence at his back even though he didn't turn around.

He felt a ripple of the ki which seemed to coincide with faint surprise and, more confusingly, delight; and then it didn't ripple so much as _swell,_ as though the person was being disgorged out of nothingness and into existence. "And here I was thinking you were just another swordsman." A female voice, definitely, and though there was a definite note of amusement there it sounded strangely thin despite its rich, devious tone. "You're one of the first to have noticed my presence."

_Flattery. I'd like it if I knew who it was coming from and what they wanted._

"You didn't answer my question." Hiko chided the woman softly, deadly with reproach and warning. He didn't hear so much as sense her approach, and his brow furrowed slightly at the utter noiselessness of her footsteps. There was something almost unnatural about it, something that made the skin on his back crawl.

"I don't have a name." was the quiet answer.

Her words covered the warning he would normally have received; as it was he just caught the tail end of an explosion of ki, just enough to let him know that something was coming and brace himself, even if he couldn't avoid it.

Not that he didn't try. Skin tingling with the impending, violent wash of energy, Hiko was moving before his conscious mind had even registered the danger. One moment he was standing in front of his kiln; the next he was airborne, leaping away in a flash of his cloak and dark hair, but not before the outer fringes of the wave hit.

It struck hard, with a power that he hadn't felt in over twenty-five years – not since before he had gained the strength to hold off his shishou's blows during training. Instantly all the air left his lungs and he felt his body falter with abrupt, searing cold, so sudden and intense that it wrested a gasp from him and probably would have done more if he had any breath left.

The next blow to land was when he hit the ground with such force that it left him dazed, unable to see, not sure which direction was up and distantly thankful he had missed the brunt of the hit. He was surrounded by the strange, inhuman energy, confusing the sensitive ki that all truly great swordsmen possessed.

But though his mind was confused, his body wasn't. Within seconds he was back on his feet in a battoujutsu stance, eyes still shut, every muscle tense and ready for an attack he didn't know the location to, his mind catching up seconds later.

It disturbed him; he hadn't felt so helpless since his own apprenticeship. But he had no time to dwell on his situation, no chance to curse himself for his weakness or speculate as to exactly _what_ the hell this woman _was._ He was still the best swordsman in Japan, and he'd be damned if he let this… thing… beat him.

The expected attack didn't come. Instead he felt a ripple of shock and then gratification in the ki surrounding him, cold in his flesh and hanging on his limbs like near-corporeal chains. "You _are_ powerful, aren't you?" The voice was all around him and within that gut-wrenching instant he realized that it was coming from the ki itself, vibrating over his skin and making it prickle almost painfully. Its cadences were the same as before, but no longer layered with automatic deception and guardedness like a normal person's would be, as though its intention was translated straight through its energy – helplessly and irrevocably honest. "No one's ever managed to dodge my initial attack before."

_She calls _that_ a dodge?_ "Sorry to disappoint," Hiko managed to growl, extending his ki outward in an attempt to penetrate the shrouding presence. A second later he twitched and gritted his teeth against the responding jolt, spiking into his head behind his closed eyes.

"Oh, you didn't disappoint. It just proves that I made the right choice."

"Oh?" Hiko responded noncommittally, reaching out a little more cautiously this time and again being met with a suffocating blanket of her ki, heavy and unyielding.

"Yes…" the sound hissed all around him, the unseen leaves rustling wildly, his long black hair blown about and his mantle flapping, and he shivered against his will, feeling the persistent numbness seeping into his flesh. "I've never seen such strength in a mortal. You might even be strong enough for my other purposes."

_Mortal?_ Hiko felt a chill, and it had nothing to do with the cold of the aura enveloping him. There was something big, something strange and unnatural, happening here and he knew he was out of his depth.

He didn't know what warned him this time. It couldn't have been his ki, smothered by the insidious presence of the woman, and he had long since stopped putting all his trust in it anyway – as of the beginning of the bizarre encounter. It may have been that strange, almost supernatural instinct that all beasts have, the one which makes no sense but is always right.

And yet, at the same time, he thought he felt something – like a breeze, a movement against his skin.

Whatever it was, it was enough. One moment he was still; the next his nihontou had flashed from its wooden saya with a metallic ring and the god-speed of battoujutsu, deflecting an abrupt burst of the odd ki in an explosion of energy that washed around him, leaving him feeling colder than before, enough to make his breath catch.

Although Hiko couldn't see it, he knew the sharp edge of his blade had shone with sparks of blue, wisping along the metal with his movement. It was the manifestation of his ki – very few swordsmen were ever strong enough to have their energy register as physical light, the practitioners of Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu being some of them, and even then Hiko rarely had to extend his energy to that point.

It was probably all that saved him. He knew – could _feel_ – that it wasn't the sword that stopped the attack, it was his own projection of his ki. This wasn't a battle of steel; if it were he would have won already.

He felt it again, that odd draught, as though clouds had shifted, lifting, as though layers upon layers of fabric were being twisted and controlled all around him.

_That's –_

He moved, too fast to be seen, his sword leaving a blaze of cerulean in the darkness as the bolt exploded upon the energy-coated steel, parried away in streamers of invisible force and an icy wind.

_Wakatta! I can't sense her with my own ki – but hers betrays her._

The realization barely had time to register; then he felt a ripple of growing irritation and sensed the pull of her energy. With quick movements he parried one attack and then tried to evade another, only to have the aura undulate and redirect it back towards him where it broke upon the length of his blade.

He didn't have time to do anything but note this fact and compensate his tactics accordingly, restricting him to quick movements to deflect the unending assaults rather than dodge them. It was the strangest, deadliest battle he'd ever fought, one with no physical enemy, where sight and hearing and smell were nothing and his ki was stifled, where his body heat was being leeched with his every movement.

The kiln rose up somewhere beside him, a void of nothingness within the seethe of the woman's presence. Its heat burned against his icy skin, making him realize just how cold he felt, and a tiny shudder ran down his arms, leaving a smudging trail of blue light in the wake of his sword as it vibrated, just barely catching the next bolt of energy.

_Shimatta, I can't let this go on._

He could sense building frustration and a faint sense of incredulity in the ki around him, and knew that whatever the woman said about his strength, she had not expected him to last this long. If she had any tricks up her sleeve, she was going to use them soon. _I need to find her physical body – if she _has_ one._

With every fabric-like movement in her aura, he strove to follow it back to its point of origin, twisting and turning, a maelstrom of energy swirling around the clearing. He could hear the lash of the foliage at the edges, but the wind that caused it was indistinguishable to the cold energy on his skin. He could feel himself weakening and poured more of his ki into his defence, letting loose some of his iron control and wishing – fleetingly – that he had time to pull off his mantle. This would be easier to end if he could just unleash his true power; as it was, he was wary of releasing too much and burning himself out.

That wouldn't usually be a problem, but this damning, leeching cold… it was doing more than merely sapping his warmth, it was taking his ki as well. He could feel it shatter with every parried bolt from the woman, lost to the whorl of her aura.

An infuriated snarl radiated from all around him, vibrating along his skin, making the hair draping past his face ruffle, and he couldn't restrain a grim, satisfied smile.

Next instant he grunted in mild surprise as he blocked a vicious, frustration-fuelled strike that made phantom ice sweep up his blade, his hands searing numbly. He could feel the chill sweeping up his arms, sapping his strength; startled, he pushed back with his own ki, far harder than he intended or was wise.

It all happened in barely a few seconds. Blue light exploded along the steel of his nihontou and he felt the woman's aura give against the sudden power of the retaliation, felt it draw back from him for an instant with a hollow, resonating gasp of shock.

It was enough. Like clouds parting for moments, less, Hiko felt the glow that was her core, her physical body, and took the opening. With the controlled, rapid movements of a Hiten Mitsurugi master he surged forward, unleashing his ki in an invisible force to stop the break from closing, even as he felt the chill of her presence consume it like fire consumed air. He could feel her alarm in the clash of their wills, his sword sweeping down on her less than a second after he'd moved –

But she wasn't there anymore.

In that same moment that he struck he felt a strange twist of her aura, wrapping up around her and then pulling sharply away in a wash of energy that lashed past him, across the clearing. Hiko was too entrenched in instinct to feel surprised; instead, the instant he felt her spirit reweave itself elsewhere he was already there, overhead, bringing his sword down in a Ryutsuisen.

Although he noted – in a detached part of his mind – that going airborne had apparently lifted him from her suffocating presence, he also recorded her second wrench of shock, surmised that she hadn't seen anyone with speed such as his.

But that surprise turned to triumph, too late, far too late even for him to react any more than to accept that she had finally played her trump card – and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

It was the residual streams of her cold energy that he felt trailing after him, clinging to his limbs like ghostly shadows. One moment they drifted, awash in the tamed, unseen inferno that was his ki; the next they shot around him, whipping around his wrists with a crackle of burning ice that sent streaks of pain up his arms. His concentration shattered, taken off-guard, and he swallowed a scream, but couldn't contain the moan that forced itself through gritted teeth.

He fell like a meteor, his white mantle flapping wildly in the wind, his black hair thrashing around his shoulders, and if anyone with the ability to sense ki had been there they would have felt the violent whirl of charged flames and creeping, insidious shadow, the latter binding the former in cruel lashes of ice and darkness.

For the second time in what couldn't have been more than ten minutes Hiko hit the ground, this time hard enough that he distantly felt ribs break, felt all the air leave his lungs and felt himself gasp instinctively for more; but he was numb, too numb for the pain to properly make itself known. And that worried him.

_Kuso –_

"I did not expect this," he heard the woman's voice, sounding vaguely troubled and no longer a mere sensation as her ki retreated. He could sense the tremble of her silent footsteps in the grass and soil as she approached and gripped the wooden hilt of his nihontou in readiness, the sword still in his hand.

The instant he thought she was close enough Hiko surged off the ground and into a spinning crouch, his eyes finally snapping open in a flash of wrathful amber. The engraved blade sang with a blaze of blue flames as it cut the air, his mantle sweeping around his legs and hair flying, teeth bared in a silent snarl of fury.

And just as quickly as he moved, that was how quickly the pain hit. He felt – actually _felt_ – the rough metal of manacles around his wrists, slicing cruelly into his flesh in twists of burning steel. His blow was deflected with a wrench, the slender nihontou biting into dirt as his spare hand instinctively went up to the chain he could swear he felt looping around his neck, his shoulders, contracting in an abrupt implosion of agony that brought him back to his knees.

For a moment all he could do was breathe, shuddering with each one he took, struggling to shake off the ache that still laced his muscles through the sharp stabs of his damaged ribs. His fist was still tight around Wintermoon's hilt, trembling with its force, but the chains were heavy on him, burning even through the dark cloth of his gi and his mantle. They weighed him down, smouldering against his flesh, these restraints which he could feel digging through the dark leather of his armguards but which he _could not see._

"I did not expect this at all," the woman said again, quietly, contemplatively. "I knew you were strong and that is why I came for you, but this… this _power…_ I did not expect this. No one has ever struggled so, let alone come so close to defeating me."

The pain dulled with his stillness and Hiko judged it safe to look up, cautiously slow against the weight of the links at his neck, his narrow eyes snapping amber fire at his assailant as she came into view and he finally saw her face-to-face.

But he saw almost nothing but shadow, catching only the black drape of her hair, the faint shine of moonlight on smooth, pale skin, the slender curve of her neck and the absolute, sweeping darkness of her kimono. "Who are you?" he demanded in a low, almost guttural voice, reigning in his ki with an effort against the twinges of crackling energy when it hit the chains.

"I told you: I don't have a name." She reached forward with a slim hand, her wrist wrapped in swaths of black velvet, and caressed his cheek with her fingertips. He let her, refusing to acknowledge the burn of cold that felt like it scarred his skin, his gaze dark beneath his ruffled bangs as it bored into her. "But you may call me Okami no Kage."

_Mistress of Shadow. Appropriate and yet conceited._

"Why?" he asked next, his tone so cold it could have rivalled the icy burn of his phantom restraints, and both of them knew he wasn't talking about her name.

He saw the tiny curve of her lips as she smiled almost whimsically. "I'm always searching for strong mortals. Usually they go down in the first assault, though. It would have been much easier for you if you had done the same. A bit of cold, a flash of darkness, and that's it. It wouldn't have hurt nearly so much. You'd hardly have felt the chains."

An angry growl rumbled in his chest and throat, but Hiko refused to set it loose, instead glaring at her with such force that she was almost surprised her flesh wasn't flayed from her bones. Unnoticed, his fingers twitched on the hilt of his nihontou and he tamped ruthlessly down on his ki again. Not yet. He wanted to know more before he killed her.

"Perhaps it's just as well, though," she continued almost distantly. "I don't think I'd have found such a powerful mortal in the next hundred years. I needed someone like you… I just didn't believe I'd find you. This makes things so much easier."

"Why don't you just tell me what you want me to do so I can refuse you," Hiko snarled, but Okami no Kage merely smiled maliciously.

"Oh, believe me. You won't have a choice."

_Ano, I am_ not_ letting that pass!_ "Nameru…" His voice was low and deadly, falling so deep that it was in the realms of bestial. _"Ja nai!"_ He moved as only a master of Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu could, his hand twisting in a practised movement, and his blade followed in a gleam of moonlight. _Douryusen!_

In one sweeping movement the ground exploded in a cloud of soil and debris as a fissure streaked towards Okami, and Hiko's legs pumped before the dust had started to fall, surging forward in a rush and billow of his mantle.

The chains pulled tight and made his chest sear with ignored pain, the links drawing back on his wrists with a jerk that made his shoulders wrench – but not before his shining blade lifted in a graceful arc of silver-toned steel, flashing as it soared upwards.

He felt the tip cut into flesh, heard Okami's agonised shriek as it raked across her shadowed face, slashing her from cheek to forehead in a spray of black blood.

Then he toppled, the chains bearing him down into the ground with such strength that he couldn't breathe and knew that, if they were real, he would have been cut to ribbons and saved him the pain of the actual process he was now feeling. He gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound against it as darkness swirled around his vision. _Damn it, I don't even know what's going on. I can't believe this… I can't go out like this…_

"You will never be freed," the woman hissed wrathfully from somewhere above him, not making a move to ease the chains' pressure. He caught a hazy glimpse of her pale hand pressed to her ruined eye and felt a brief pang of satisfaction. "That is why I came for you! You have no blood-kin, no relatives, no family, and without them you will never be escape. There is no one to bind you to this world, no one who would even care that you're gone!"

They say that certain death can bring some sharp insights. If Hiko had had the chance, he would have agreed with whoever 'they' were. Instead he was hit by a keen sense of understanding, as much as he could understand when he didn't even know what this woman _was._

What he did understand was that she was a predator.

What he did understand was that she went after loners. Those who had no one to call them from the brink of death, no one to worry and search them out if they went missing. As a hermit, he probably seemed perfect for her.

Too bad she was wrong.

"I will drain you like all the others. You are chained. Your power can do nothing for you now."

_Deshi._

"It will be _mine,_ because you're nothing."

_Deshi!_

"Nothing but food. Nothing but prey. _Mine."_

_DESHI!_

And in a city many miles away, a man with fiery red hair and a cross-shaped scar on his cheek jolted awake with a pain-filled cry on his lips.

* * *

**A/N: **_Okay, this glossary doesn't count terms from canon which I'm assuming you'll know, such as the definition of battoujutsu and whatever. Most of you probably know half of these anyway, but I know I was pretty ignorant when I started reading and these little glossaries really helped me out._

**Glossary:**

_Ano – I've been told it means 'that', as opposed to being an 'um' or 'uh' most people seem to use it as (for which I hear the correct term is 'anou'). In this context it's something like a curse (so if the context is out, let me know)_

_Baka – 'stupid', 'idiot', all of those tamer insults_

_Deshi – 'apprentice'_

_Gi – a type of loose shirt_

_Ki – a person's life-energy or aura. I usually distinguish between 'kenki' and 'ki' by applying 'kenki' specifically to a swordsman's fighting spirit, while 'ki' is a more generalized term. Dunno if that's right or not, but whatever._

_Kusai – means 'suspicious', pretty much the equivalent to the English phrase 'something smells funny about this'._

_Kuso – an all-purpose swearword like 'shit'_

_Namera ja nai – pretty much means 'don't mess with me' or 'don't underestimate me', usually said aggressively. (grins) I thought it was a pretty good phrase for Hiko_

_Nihontou – from what I've been able to find out, a nihontou isn't a sword type like a katana or wakizashi, but is a term for a particularly beautiful or respected blade, often one that's been passed down generations as an heirloom. Only a blade made in Japan can be called a nihontou. I've seen Hiko's sword referred to by this classification, and once I found out the definition I just had to use it too, since I'm one of those who likes to think that the sword from 'Crescent Moon of the Warring States' is the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu heirloom._

_Saya – the scabbard_

_Shimatta – 'damn it'_

_Shishou – 'master', as in master and apprentice_

_Wakatta – 'I know' or 'I understand'_

_Yare yare – all-purpose exclamation; 'oh brother', 'good grief', that kinda stuff_


	2. On a Thought and a Whim

**A/N:**_ Not much to say (for once). Some minor edits for chapter one, which I'll repost once they're confirmed… but other than that, I got nothing except thanks for those who reviewed (grins)._

…_and a warning which I'll also be putting into chapter one once I update it: there'll be some torture or near-torture scenes sometime in the future, so I'm iffy about the rating. If you want me to up it, tell me._

_Oh, about honorifics: sometimes I won't be certain who uses what honorifics for who (how Kaoru refers to Aoshi is the one I'm stumped on in particular) so some of them I'm expecting to get wrong. Please, tell me if they are, I beg of you! (puppy dog eyes)_

_Moving on…_

_EDITED_

* * *

** II **

**ON A THOUGHT AND A WHIM**

_Something's wrong._

The certainty plagued Kenshin's mind, rampaging through his thoughts and making his body tense with apprehension, with unreleased adrenaline that made him twitch with nerves. He was seated, leaning against the shoji leading inside the dojo, one knee raised and the other curled beneath it, his white hakama loose on the wood of the engawa. His sakabatou was propped up against his shoulder, its black saya stark against his red gi, and his head was bowed, his fiery bangs shading his face.

It was still dark, the stars a clear silver; but Himura Kenshin didn't notice them, them or the light rustle of the wind in the trees surrounding the tall dojo fence, the faint chirp of crickets, the slight chill of the night.

Well, the last made more of an impact, but only because it seemed so much colder, seeping down to his bones. He couldn't say _why_ he felt so cold, only that it had something to do with his unwavering certainty that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

When he had first woken up hours ago he had been covered in sweat, shaking from adrenaline and anxiety, breathing as though he had just gone toe-to-toe with his master and, predictably, lost.

It was the thought of Hiko Seijuro that wound him up so tightly with outright fear. He could have sworn he heard his shishou call out for him, but the tone of voice was so unlike what he ever imagined his shishou's would be: strained, urgent, almost… desperate.

And that, more than anything he might have dreamed, made him afraid.

As soon as he had as much a hold of himself as he could under the circumstances, his stomach still clenching with unreasoning terror, he had rushed into Kaoru-dono and Yahiko's rooms to make sure they were all right even though his awareness had told him they were; and of course had discovered his worry was unfounded. It had been all he could do to keep from hastening to Sano's place or the clinic to check on the other two, but he figured that Sano could take care of himself and he didn't want to risk leaving the dojo. He just hoped that no one went after Megumi-dono.

He didn't even try to go back to sleep. Instead he changed and headed for the engawa just outside, sitting and waiting for daybreak, so tense that his back and arms were aching horribly before a few hours had passed.

_This has something to do with Shishou. Whether I heard his voice or not, I can't shake this feeling._

Narrow, amber-flecked eyes gazed sightlessly through shaggy red bangs, hard with determination and unease. He had to do something. If it was something to do with his shishou, he couldn't stay here.

When daybreak finally came, shining orange over the horizon, beaming through trees and buildings, the engawa was empty.

* * *

By the time the sun was fully up the day was already shaping up to be quite pleasant; the sky was fairly clear and while the breeze was still a little crisp that was sure to change soon enough. All of the dojo's inhabitants had already arisen, so when the thick timber gates leading into the yard flew open with a crash neither of the two still there were overly surprised. 

"Hey." Sagara Sanosuke raised a hand in greeting to the single person in sight, his dark eyes bland beneath his red bandanna.

"Che. It's you." Yahiko snorted mildly at him from where he stood in the scrubby yard, his face damp with sweat from his morning training and wooden shinai still raised mid-lunge. "Figures you'd come just in time for breakfast."

"Hunh…" Sano snorted back, entering with a lazy stride and ruffling the boy's spiky black nest of hair roughly. "So what is it?"

"Yahiko! I don't hear any counts out there!" Kaoru's strident tones called out from inside the modest, timber-built dojo.

"Yare, yare," Yahiko muttered belligerently before continuing on to Sano. "Well, you came at the wrong time. Kenshin's not here, so Ugly's cooking."

_What?_ Sano grimaced. _Maybe I _shouldn't_ have come._ "Where's Kenshin?"

Yahiko shrugged, drowning Sano's hopes that perhaps he could convince the redhead to take over the chore. Kaoru's cooking could have been used to poison people during the Bakumatsu, it was that bad. "He was gone when we woke up this morning."

Sano felt the stirrings of unease. "Gone? Aren't you worried?" _Isn't Jou-chan worried?_ was what he meant, but he knew that for all his youth, Yahiko would understand.

"Iya." came the blunt, confident reply as Yahiko adjusted his form to continue his morning exercises, brown eyes focussed past his shinai. "After everything we went through last time? No way Kenshin would just run off on her like that again."

Sano felt reassured, and then slightly irritated that it took a boy nine years his junior to do it. Wasn't he supposed to be the one to reassure the kid? "Feh." He muttered, feigning indifference. "S'pose you're right."

And he was proven so barely five minutes later, when Kenshin himself walked through the gate with dark-haired beauty Takani Megumi in tow.

Sano was immediately alerted by Kenshin's stride; it wasn't the slow, ambling pace of the rurouni, but the sure, precise step of the swordsman, his head held high and his hand lightly grasping the hilt of his sakabatou. And most telling of all was the narrow slant of his eyes and the amber glints that showed in the sunlight.

Yahiko wasn't a fool; he saw it as well, halting his exercises the instant the rurouni set foot in the yard. Behind the redhead, Megumi had her brow furrowed slightly in concern, her full lips set to a worried line.

"Yahiko! I can't hear you –" Kaoru poked her head through the open shoji and saw them all, taking in the sombre look on Kenshin's face. "Kenshin?" she asked uncertainly, more quietly than her words before, and came to stand out on the canopied engawa, folding her hands over the front of her brightly coloured kimono.

"Sessha is sorry to bring this up so soon after returning home, de gozaru," Kenshin said quietly, his violet eyes lowered gravely to the ground. "But sessha fears that he must leave again for Kyoto."

_Leave?_ Kaoru's immediate reaction was to go cold, her stomach twisting apprehensively. She knew this situation was different, she knew it, but they hadn't really been home all that long, not even a month, and that single word was enough to make her remember – the darkness looming beyond the dojo's walls, lit only by the glow of the myriads of fireflies – the way his head hung low, refusing to look her in the eye – his whispered, regretful tone – _Sayonara –_

She needn't have worried.

"Sessha does not wish to worry you, de gozaru," Kenshin continued before any of them could voice their protests, which Sano had already opened his mouth to do. "Sessha is willing for you to come with, but sessha must leave today, as soon as possible."

Kaoru's heart pounded. _He wants us to come with. He's warning us this time, so we can go with if we want to._ She suddenly realised that he was looking at her almost nervously, anxiously, as though asking for her permission – but she could see that in the set of his shoulders and the way his knuckles had gone white from gripping his saya that the situation was more urgent than he was saying.

Kaoru raised her head and looked him firmly in the eye. "When do we leave?"

* * *

The day was fairly bright but the air beneath the trees was cool, dappled with shadows over the mulch strewn along the ground. It was green and peaceful, but most of all it was quiet, aside from the trickle of water and the occasional birdcall. 

At least, Shinomori Aoshi imagined that under different circumstances it would be; but now it was interrupted by the whimsical chatter of a teenaged girl and her playful steps, jumping from rocks to branches and back again with her long, tightly braided hair whipping behind her and her scanty clothes a flash of blue and white on the foliage.

He restrained an uncharacteristic sigh, aware of Kuro's hulking presence just behind his shoulder as he stepped gracefully over a particularly root-twisted piece of ground. It wasn't that he found Misao exceedingly annoying – he was well-used to tuning out voices or sounds that were a distraction, and although it had been years since he'd seen her it was a skill he'd kept with him – but this was a trip he had never expected himself making.

It was a while since the Shishio incident, and though Aoshi was, admittedly, feeling better about himself than he had since he'd walked into those desolate, godforsaken mountains so many months ago, he still wasn't sure he was ready to go out into the world yet.

But the message the Oniwabanshu had received that morning had, in his mind, taken the decision out of his hands. Recently he had been sensing strange ki around Kyoto, had been spending more time trying to feel them out than actually meditating, whatever the others thought it was he was doing. Then he'd heard Okina and Misao talking outside his room, talking about a message from one Himura Kenshin – about how he had an ominous prediction that something was going to happen, and though he didn't know what, he felt it had something to do with his shishou.

Misao had just volunteered to go up the mountain and check on Hiko Seijuro as Battousai had requested when she was startled by the shoji opening to reveal Aoshi's taciturn face. "I'll go," was all the black-haired man had said, and that was that.

Aoshi hadn't told Misao and Okina his reasons for it, but they were linked to that strange ki. For the most part the energy he had been sensing had been all the same: dark, malicious, and utterly bestial – or maybe insane would have been a better term. But there was one in particular that was different; stronger, less insane but infinitely more dangerous although in a different way, especially since the others seemed to be controlled by it. Whenever it had appeared he'd felt a chill, had known that, whatever it was, it was a threat. He just hadn't known when or where it would strike.

Now he was thinking that perhaps it finally had. The last time he had sensed it had been just the night before, but it had been further out of Kyoto than he expected, on the very mountain he was now climbing. It too had been ascending, doing so in strange leaps and jumps, just before it left his sensing range.

Aoshi knew how to trust his instincts, and right now they were agreeing with Battousai. Something was up.

Aoshi was a man who valued peace and quiet, so he could understand why Hiko Seijuro would want to live out here, away from the bustle and clutter of civilisation; what he wasn't sure about was their welcome when they finally reached his clearing. Misao had mentioned he was a rather surly fellow.

He felt he would almost prefer being run off the mountain than finding…

Well, whatever was up there. If there was one thing he hated about being okashira – no, one of the leading Oniwabanshu; he could hardly claim to be okashira anymore – it was being right when something bad had happened. Usually it meant more grief for him and his people.

"Almost there, Aoshi-sama," Misao said cheerfully from ahead of him, her dark sleeveless gi held in close around her waist by a wide obi and her bare legs slightly scratched and grazed by the underbrush. Aoshi just nodded silently in acknowledgement, picking his way through the mulch and roots with nary a rustle of the dying leaves, a black and white-uniformed ghost in the foliage. Behind him, Kuro was nearly as quiet despite his large size, a white headband stark against his short hair, his uniform, so similar in cut to the others, loose on his huge frame.

_And that out-of-season storm was strange as well._ Aoshi considered the abrupt winds and thunder Kyoto had witnessed last night. Although it had never touched the city, its speed and violence had been a thing to behold; yet it had dispersed as quickly as it came, more so perhaps, as though all the strength had been sucked out it – and it had only swept a certain part of the mountain, only the area they were now headed for.

Okina had mentioned that sometimes such storms came up in the mountains, so swift and localised that the townspeople called it haunted – but he also admitted that the nature of this one's ending was unusual.

The fact that it occurred the same night Aoshi lost track of that strange ki wasn't lost on him either. He had seen weather of that like before, he could guess what had caused it. Aoshi didn't believe in coincidences and this would have to be a damn big one to avoid being interconnected.

The winding path opened up before them, the trees parting into a flat grassy clearing. "Here we are," Misao called light-heartedly and completely unnecessarily, skipping ahead with a swing of her braid. "Hiko-sama, are you –"

Misao's merry shout cut off into a shocked gasp and she stopped short, staring with wide eyes into the clearing. Aoshi's chest tightened with adrenaline and in an instant he was there beside her, the broad ribbons of his long obi trailing after him and Kuro a few heavy steps behind.

Any doubts that the strange storm had hit the clearing were dispelled when he saw it. The canopy of the trees on the outer edges were all threadbare, the green leaves scattered over the earth; some even had branches splintered, timber littering the base. The old hut looked worse for wear, still standing but with its cloth door crumpled on the floor and its windows shattered. The kiln's tin roof looked dented and Aoshi's sharp eyes saw that the smooth dome beneath it was speckled with minute cracks.

The grass was strangely pristine, as though whatever winds had lashed the foliage had missed the ground – except in one or two places where it was matted, like a heavy weight had struck it.

And across from them lay an unmoving heap of white fabric; a heap with long black hair, its tangled wisps settled gently on a red collar.

"H– Hiko-sama?" Misao faltered, but Aoshi didn't waste time with words. His movement seemed to snap her out of it, because he felt her at his side as he ran quickly towards the fallen man, managing to breathe easily despite the tension he felt.

They reached Hiko and Aoshi knelt by him, turning him over gently from his side and onto his back, supporting his head on his lap. The bear-like swordsman followed the direction limply, his thin face ashen beneath his long bangs, his eyes closed. A single touch of his face made Aoshi draw in a tiny, sharp breath; he was cold, too cold, and if not for the fact that his chest rose and fell steadily Aoshi would think he was dead.

As it was, it looked as though someone had thrown him aside and left him there – at least, it might have if Aoshi hadn't noted the slight depression in the grass, like something heavy had been bearing down on him. Carefully the ninja pushed back the hem of the Hiko's gi, probing his chest for injuries, but it was difficult to tell if there were any when the man made no reaction to any pain there may have been. Then he found the bruises: huge purple and black marks swathing his ribs, ones which _must_ have been painful. _Broken, most likely._

"Aoshi-sama, look!" Misao drew his attention towards the swordsman's hands. Both were empty, but one was clenched as though it had once held a sword – or should still be holding one – and the turf where the blade would have lain was dry and dying, the soil flaky as though it had been burned, though Aoshi's nose couldn't smell a hint of smoke or ash.

What he _did_ feel was the lingering sensation of ki, dark and cold, and a chill ran down his spine.

On her hands and knees beside him, her long hair dangling over one slim shoulder, Misao reached out curiously for the lifeless patch of grass. "Don't touch it," Aoshi said sharply, and she jumped, withdrawing her hand and looking at him with wider eyes than he remembered seeing on her in a long while. He could feel Kuro's gaze on him too, knew it was because he had spoken so curtly. Usually Aoshi had two tones: bland and determined, and it was often hard to tell the difference.

But this… that grass didn't wilt on its own, something had caused that, and with such precision; the length and width of a blade. It wasn't natural.

His confusion grew when he noted the thin shape beneath Hiko's cloak, a shape which turned out to be his empty wooden saya. _Why take the sword and leave the sheath behind…?_

Misao took it, practically hugging it to her as she sat back to watch the men as they examined the unconscious swordsman for more injuries. All they found was that his hand – the one that had held his sword – had been cut across the palm, but it didn't look accidental and Aoshi couldn't think of what purpose it would have, not when Hiko was already helpless.

He was also tense; his hand was frozen in position as though carved there, making Aoshi wonder exactly how anyone could have taken his sword from a grip like that. While Aoshi carefully got Hiko's cloak off him, Kuro worked to remove his leather armguards and massage some of the stiffness out before it set in and possibly became a real problem.

Then, "Aoshi-sama," Kuro rumbled softly when the armguard gave and fell away, lifting the unconscious swordsman's limb with gentle fingers so the tall ninja could see it, and Aoshi saw red marks blemishing the fair skin of Hiko's wrist, reaching almost to the faint tan-line near his elbow.

Chain marks.

Aoshi's mouth thinned slightly, but that was the only outward hint of his displeasure; in reality, his mind was racing with a thousand possibilities and his stomach was a hard, anxious knot. What if whoever did this linked Hiko to the Aoi-ya and came after them next, especially if they found out that Battousai was due to arrive in a few days?

He had seen Hiko Seijuro before, albeit only briefly, when he returned to the Aoi-ya after Mount Hiei went up in flames; but he hadn't interacted with the man at all and most of what he knew came from his people. Okon was particularly obsessive about the subject, though Okina had given him the most concise report, and one very important thing had shone through:

Okina was impressed.

_Incredibly_ impressed.

Aoshi always took the things the old ninja said with a grain of salt, but he suspected that Okina hadn't had to exaggerate at all in this case. Taking down a man the size of which the Oniwabanshu had reported with a single attack was amazing enough. To touch the heart of that same person in the way Okina described had nearly sent cold chills down Aoshi's spine. It was eerily familiar to the way Himura had yanked _him_ back from the brink.

Maybe the redhead was the way he was naturally, but… hearing from Okina, Aoshi couldn't help but feel that it was a quality that Hiko Seijuro had cultivated. And he thanked him for it.

Still, through all the glorified ravings and exaggerated stories he had managed to figure out several things. Among them was the fact that Hiko Seijuro was strong; stronger than Battousai, that much was fact, and Battousai had beaten Aoshi, had beaten Seta Soujiro, could be credited with Shishio's defeat.

What could possibly be strong enough to do _this_ to a man like _that?_

"We need to get him to the Aoi-ya." Aoshi said grimly. _I need to get in contact with Battousai._

That proved to be easier said than done.

There wasn't much difference in build between Kuro and Hiko – while Kuro was slightly taller and thicker in bone, Hiko was all muscle, even more so than the ninja, and that would make him difficult to carry. Luckily Aoshi was near enough both their heights that he would be able to shoulder some of the swordsman's weight, but unfortunately there was also the problem of those injuries. In the end Aoshi decided they would just have to be careful and pray they were fairly minor – though considering the wounds he had seen _Battousai_ sustain and still manage to remain upright, he felt Hiko's ribs were probably the least of their worries.

That damned cloak didn't help either. Aoshi and Kuro managed to get it off the hermit so they could roll the saya and armguards up in it and enable Misao to bear them all at once; only, when they gave it to her it was so unexpectedly heavy that she almost dropped it and ended up falling and landing hard on her arse. _"Kuso!"_ she swore, then shot a guilty look at Aoshi.

The black-haired ninja didn't notice, since he was examining the shoulders of the mantle with a slight furrow in his brow. He had noticed they seemed bulkier than was usual, but now he saw they were in fact weighted.

_Why is that? Constant training, or some other reason?_ He looked more closely. _No. They're counterbalances – almost as though…_

_As though they're restraining something._

_As though they're restraining _him.

Kami-sama. How strong would a man have to be to need _restraints_ to keep his power in check?

And what could possibly floor a man that powerful?

He suddenly felt, with keen understanding, just how lucky he was that Himura had a vow against killing, leaving aside the fact that the redhead had technically only just completed his apprenticeship.

"Aoshi-sama?"

Aoshi glanced up to find both Misao and Kuro staring at him. "Can you still carry it?" he asked evenly, as though he hadn't just had a lapse in concentration, as though his chest wasn't tight enough with anxiety to stop his breath. Misao lifted the bulky package experimentally, and then nodded.

Aoshi rose. "Then let's go."

Between the two of them, the ninjas managed to heft the fallen swordsman into a comfortable enough position and begin the long, meandering trek back to Kyoto, Misao on their tail with a heavy bundle of white and red fabric in her arms, draping to the ground and brushing the leaves as she walked, a quiet serenade to their grim procession.

* * *

Hiko lifted through a haze, tendrils of unconsciousness still clawing at his sleep-confused mind but quickly receding. He was lying on his back, but couldn't have said where; the ground seemed oddly smooth and damned cold, and he felt that he was lying on something, like ropes or – 

_Chains._

Abruptly he remembered: remembered the ki, the woman, the restraints. He could feel them now, hanging on his neck, his chest, winding around his arms and waist. They were cold against his skin and through his dark clothes, but not to the point of burning. Not yet.

Experimentally he took a deep, cautious breath and was relieved to note that aside from the clink of the metal they weren't so tight as to be constricting. Well, as un-constricting as chains could be, considering their purpose.

That is until he tried to extend his ki to search the area around him. The links flared to life – or was that _froze_? – tightening cruelly around his throat and chest, the manacles contracting around his wrists, his ankles, and surprise wrung a gasp from him as he quickly abandoned the attempt. Instantly the still-prickling chains fell slack, leaving him to shake off the ache the metal had left on him.

_I suppose I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way,_ he thought grimly, hating the idea of playing into that woman's hands but knowing that he needed to save his strength.

So he opened his eyes, cautiously at first, only to be met with utter and complete darkness.

It wasn't the darkness of night, where there was still the glow of the moon and the shine of stars, where the shift of trees and chirp of insects were audible and the smell of water was on the breeze.

This darkness was absolute. He couldn't even see his bangs in front of his eyes, and he _knew_ they were there; he could feel them. He couldn't hear anything, but it wasn't like his entire world had been muffled – it was more like nothing simply _existed._ He couldn't feel any air on his skin, couldn't smell anything, couldn't even feel ground beneath him… there was simply nothing. Nothing but shadow. Nothing but darkness.

He suspected that his ki could have sensed… _something,_ if the chains would let him use it. As it was he felt his skin prickle with goosebumps, though there was nothing tangible there – which was, perhaps, the problem. But this place was more than eerie; it was dangerous. He could feel it, even without his ki.

Warily Hiko lifted a hand, the shackle a strange presence on his wrist, noticeable even through his armguard, but it didn't react and so he judged it safe to sit up. He did so carefully, his jaw clenching momentarily at the stiffness in his muscles, but to his surprise he felt none of the pain he expected from his ribs.

He didn't like the implications of that.

A second later one of his hands landed on a slim shaft of wood beside him. Instantly his fingers gripped it and he let out a breath, tension flowing out of him that he didn't even know had been there.

He had his sword at least, though he couldn't imagine what kind of kidnapper would let him keep it. He certainly wasn't dead and he definitely wasn't at his clearing, so kidnapping was the last thing remaining on his list.

He refused to think of something supernatural. He didn't know if he could handle it just yet; not until he had a better grasp of his situation.

Slowly Hiko rose to his feet, unsteady at first as he balanced the unfamiliar weight of the chains dragging at his body, but it wasn't much heavier than his mantle and he had borne _that_ for almost twenty-five years.

That was when he noticed he wasn't wearing it. He may not have been able to see, but that supple white cloak had been a part of his person ever since he had become Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth; he could hardly miss its voluminous folds, the counterbalances on his shoulders. It was odd, knowing he didn't have it. He remembered taking it off when he was teaching Kenshin the succession technique, remembered that strange, lighter-than-air feeling.

There was none of that now. The chains were just as constricting, albeit in a different way, but he didn't consider it a boon. This woman had already proven herself a strong adversary; the next time they met, Hiko didn't intend on keeping the cloak on, whether he had it or not.

Feeling at his waist, Hiko located his obi and slipped his katana into place, brushing aside the clinking chains he felt draping around his sides.

_One bearing is as good as another,_ he thought darkly, not at all intending to sit in one place and wait for someone to come to him. He couldn't sense anything in the immediate vicinity, so that just meant he'd have to find the dimensions of his prison himself.

Hand resting on the smooth, comforting wood of his saya, Hiko Seijuro picked a direction and started walking, his footsteps eerily silent on a floor of nothingness.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_-chan – honorific, usually used with little kids and especially girls, but can also be used with adults to show affection_

_Che – exclamation, often used to show disgust – sort of like saying 'shiiiit!'_

_De gozaru (ka/yo) – archaic form of 'desu', which means 'to be'; in the original Japanese it's apparently a strange, polite quirk of Kenshin's to say it at the end of his sentences. The English dub has it as something like 'that it is', which I could've used to save me the trouble of researching it, but since I was already using the Japanese 'sessha' I wanted to keep it for consistency reasons. Putting 'ka' on the end basically means he's asking a question, while 'yo' suggests an exclamation or emphasis. Took me ages to look up everything on this one so I could get it right and I'm still not sure (especially with the 'yo') so tell me if I get it wrong._

_Dojo – martial arts training hall_

_-dono – a respectful honorific, one even higher than -sama and more rarely used._

_Engawa – Japanese version of a veranda, porch, etc._

_Hakama – loose pants which resemble a skirt, usually worn by men and often worn during training. Can be single-panelled (like Sano's) or the traditional seven-panelled of a samurai (like Kenshin's)._

_Iya – informal term for 'no', and I have some sources which say the emphasis is sort of along the lines of 'no way'_

_Jou-chan – Sano's nickname for Kaoru. English translation has it as 'Missy'._

_Kami – 'god'_

_Obi – a sash-like belt used to secure your kimono or shirt, and can be or varying width_

_Okashira – a high-ranking leader of the Oniwabanshu_

_Rurouni – wanderer or vagabond. Really shouldn't need to be said, but…_

_Sakabatou – reverse-edge blade. This one really shouldn't need to be said either_

_-sama – an extremely respectful honorific equivalent to 'lord' or 'master'; in Misao's case, when referring to Aoshi, it's because she's got a heck of a crush (grins)_

_Sayonara – 'goodbye', usually with the connotation that you'll be gone for a long time to forever_

_Sessha – humble way of referring to oneself. English translation would be near to 'this unworthy one'_

_Shinai – wooden practice sword_

_Shoji – a sliding paper door_


	3. A Guiding Hand

**A/N: **_So here we are again. Bit of swearing in this one (well, a bit _more_ than usual); Sano's a little vindictive._

_Please note that I have no idea how long it takes to ferry to Osaka from Tokyo, but from a sketch of the manga timeline I've judged it to be a couple of days… since Kaoru and Yahiko leave Tokyo two days after Kenshin did, and Saitou mentions that it would take five days for Kenshin to walk to Kyoto, but they seem to get there at the same time. Add in the factor that Kenshin would've had to slow down a bit for Misao to keep up, and there's my logic._

_As for why they're going on the ferry instead of the train, well, I figure they must've had a reason the first time – maybe train tickets were too expensive?_

_Moving on…_

* * *

** III **

**A GUIDING HAND**

Osaka.

The dark-hulled ferry pulled gently into the harbour, buzzing with sailors and loaded with crates and cords, slipping into place among the other ships. On deck, the crew was preparing to dock, many of the passengers sighing and chattering over the sight of land. One in particular stood at the bow, her slim hands resting on the steel railing, her loose pink haori and long, lustrous hair tugged by the wind.

Takani Megumi was glad to be getting off the boat – _finally!­_ – but she hardly saw the concrete port they were approaching. Her attention was elsewhere, her mind rife with contemplation. She thought too much, she knew that, it was probably the reason why she managed to get herself so depressed during the… incident… with Kanryu. She dwelt too much on what she'd done, on the consequences, instead of thinking how she could fix it.

Now, though, they were on something entirely different. There was a tiny glow of pride there, as she always felt whenever Ken-san asked her help – usually to patch up him or the bird-head. She didn't object to it so much as it seemed, because it always made her feel useful, feel needed. A few days ago, when Ken-san had arrived at the clinic bare moments after she'd opened it, she had been alarmed by his serious expression and even more so when he refused to tell her what was wrong.

"_Sessha cannot give a reason, de gozaru,"_ he said. _"Sessha does not have one. But sessha knows that he will need you, Megumi-dono, de gozaru yo. Please."_

She didn't even need the 'please' to agree. She would have done it anyway; knowing the reason was just for curiosity's sake. Well, mostly. It was clearly urgent, and that was good enough for her and Oguni-sensei both, although she did feel a little guilty for running off on her patients for the second time in a little over a month.

What she _had_ been surprised about was that she was the first one Ken-san had gone to. At first she'd been gratified, and even after she'd learned that he had gone out to send a message to the Oniwabanshu in Kyoto and merely picked her up on the way back, the fact that he hadn't woken Kaoru up to tell her he was going made the jealous beast in her chest roar with glee.

The fact that he specifically asked _her_ to come with, and left the option open to the others, just made the beast purr for most of the boat-ride. She didn't have a hope, she knew that, but that didn't stop her from feeling.

She just prayed that, whatever it was Ken-san had sensed, he was wrong about the fact he needed her. She liked feeling needed, but that didn't mean she liked people being _hurt._

"Megumi-san!"

_Hmm?_ Megumi brushed black strands from her eyes and turned to see Kaoru waving at her from the gangplank to get her attention. Over the rails she could just see Yahiko's spiky hair and Sano slouching along behind them, his hands in his pockets. Ken-san was the most obvious of all, with his bright red hair and slanted gaze, looking distantly out over the harbour.

_Whatever he needs me for, I will provide as best as I can._

_It's all I can do._ With that last thought, Megumi left the bow to join her friends.

* * *

Kenshin's thoughts were much less simple and a great deal more concerned. One could almost call them frantic, but Kenshin didn't get frantic. Anxious, yes. Incredibly, mind-numbingly anxious – but not frantic.

It was about to get a lot worse.

As they came to the main road of worn cobblestone leading out of Osaka, a man in nondescript clothes emerged from the lines of chattering people laden with bundles and bags, hauling carts and leading children. He bowed low, his long hair draping over his shoulder to shade his face. "Are you Himura-dono?" he asked in a low voice.

"Hai, de gozaru," Kenshin responded guardedly, one hand on his sakabatou. Sano cracked his knuckles warningly beside him, the thin strands of his fringe hanging over his eyes.

"I have a message for you." The man held up a thin slip of cheap paper and Kenshin took it cautiously. With that the man straightened, turned, and vanished into the crowd, leaving the others to huddle around the redheaded rurouni as he opened the note to reveal unfamiliar, calligraphic handwriting. It didn't matter. He knew who it was from, and the fact that it was from Aoshi and not Okina made Kenshin's stomach twist.

The message was short and to the point; one word, five letters. One word and five letters which chilled Kenshin's heart.

'_Hurry.'_

* * *

_Kuso!_ Hiko swore bitterly, his lips twisted downward unhappily. He wasn't getting anywhere; he couldn't tell how long he'd been walking, but he hadn't gotten tired and he hadn't seen any signs of anyone else. His senses had become slightly more attuned to the strange location, enough so that he could sense the vibration of his footsteps, hear the steady beat of his heart, his breathing.

And he thought it was getting lighter, at least. There was still absolutely nothing to see, but he could make out the faint outline of his hair and hands, now, though his dark clothes tended to fade him into the gloom.

Sometimes he thought he caught movement out of the corners of his eyes, but when he turned there was nothing, and those were the times that his inability to use his ki frustrated him the most. He had attempted once more to feel out his surroundings only to be met with the same punishment, and hadn't done so again since.

That wasn't to say he wasn't trying to figure out a way around it; he wracked his mind constantly, struggling to find an answer and failing.

The only conclusion of any kind that he had come to was that the chains were more than they seemed. Now that he had become more accustomed to this strange place, more sensitive to the surroundings without using his ki, his restraints were the things that seemed most alive in this place – aside from him.

He could feel them burn against his skin but lately was feeling more than that; something closer to a thrum, a heartbeat that matched his, occasionally prickling uncomfortably. It was eerie, and that, more than anything, finally convinced him that whatever was going on was far beyond what he – or anyone else – would consider 'normal'.

There was a flicker at the corner of his vision and he tensed automatically, his eyes flashing sidelong, though he didn't bother to turn his head. He knew that he wouldn't see anything.

Only this time his shoulders prickled warningly and his sharp ears caught a faint, guttural growl, so low that it was almost beyond the threshold of human hearing. Probably would have been, but for who he was. _So the inhabitants of this place finally show themselves,_ was the last, whimsically grim thought that flitted through his mind before everything erupted into chaos.

He was almost lost in the first attack. Not being able to use his own ki didn't equal an inability to sense the ki of others – and yet he _didn't_ sense it until the very last moment, when a brush of what passed for air in this strange world alerted him. An arm – at least, he thought it was an arm – flashed towards him from the side, fast, too fast. Its claws raked the cloth of his gi as he dodged, straining to catch a glimpse of the creature and seeing nothing in the utter darkness of his surroundings except the malevolent glitter of narrow scarlet eyes, quickly vanished.

He didn't have a chance to look around at all after that. As though that first strike was a signal he was suddenly assaulted by the beasts, slashing and tearing at him with teeth and talons and spines, only to wisp back into the gloom before he could see or even retaliate. It was unnaturally silent, and at first it was all he could do just to dodge, weaving and stepping around the assailants with a grace that few other swordsmen could match. Even then he could feel thin, stinging lines being raked across his shoulders, his arms, could feel the weight of the claws when he blocked with his wrist-guards; yet the sharp talons never seemed to catch on the chains, ghosting through the links unhindered with a prickling chill.

But Hiko wasn't about to just let them attack him. They were too quick for him to catch more than a flashing glimpse of fur or scales, or even – once – the gleam of horns; yet there were other things to watch out for.

Such as the way the darkness seemed to _twist,_ just prior to a limb emerging from it in an abrupt, smooth motion exactly like a shadow.

Within a minute of this strange, silent battle's beginning he had learned to watch for that twist, more easily seen out of the corner of his eye, and was able to slip aside from claws and teeth in unintentional imitations of the creatures' own sliding movements. The chains slowed him down, it was true, but as a low, frustrated growling began to rumble behind the threshold of darkness he found himself glad at their phantom nature. The beasts couldn't use them to reel him in, at least.

Ducking the violent lash of a muscular tail which sailed overhead, Hiko judged the time was right. His nihontou glided from its saya with a resonant tone, the blade near-invisible without the trailing light of his ki upon it as it curved upwards in a bare instant to slice the tail in half. _Ryushousen!_

The air was split with a shriek of pain, so high-pitched and sudden in the quiet that it made his ears ache and scrambled his thoughts; his blade carved through the long fur instead of the flesh of his next target. Nor did it end, going on and on, and the others were joining in too, all of them keening stridently in sympathy to the one he'd injured as he gritted his teeth at the sharp twinges that began behind his temples.

_Kuso –_

He whirled, his nihontou arcing through the darkness, flashing with the reflections of hides and horns and claws and wings, shining off of enraged scarlet eyes as the creatures fled its steel.

And that was when, perhaps one or two seconds after his blade had first been drawn, the chains activated.

They burned, not the abrupt, icy burn intended to agonise him into submission but a lingering one that indicated they were indeed awakened. It made him hiss in pain, but his rapid strike did not falter – not until the manacles suddenly contracted around his wrists, the chains writhing, pulling taut on the shackles to divert his blade with a wrench.

Distracted, dismayed, Hiko just barely managed to avoid a mangled spike that tried to impale him from behind, automatically falling into a Ryukansen and twisting his nihontou to counterattack the creature in question. Instead his restraints dragged cruelly around his arms, tightening to the point that his blow fell far short and the brief, uneven quills he glimpsed vanished back into darkness.

_Yabai…_

He suddenly realized that he was gasping, the chains across his chest brutally constricting his breath, and his ears were still ringing with the harsh, unending wails reverberating around him.

It took less than a moment to come to his decision; he was no fool, no matter how arrogantly he acted.

So for the first time in his life, Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth, Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu, cast pride to the wind and fled.

* * *

The black carriage rattled swiftly along the tamped dirt path of the main road, the green, sunlit surroundings passing by in flashes of earthy colour. It left billowing dust trails in its wake and drew the eyes of the people walking along the edges of the road, forced to the sides by its hasty passage.

And no wonder. It was going much faster than carriages usually did; the dappled horses pulling it pounded down the road at a full gallop, and the stout driver looked a mixture of irritated and fearful.

Of course, there was also the matter of the young man perched on the flat top of the vehicle; a young man wearing an open white gi, his red bandanna lashing in the wind, completely oblivious to the passersby who blinked with astonishment at the sight. Every now and then he would shout impatiently at the poor driver to go faster, always faster, though with the speed they were already travelling it was a wonder he didn't fall off.

_At least this time that bastard of a policeman isn't here to prick my ass with his sword,_ Sano thought darkly as he dropped back into a sitting position, legs crossed and bandaged hands on his knees, ignoring the pang of emotion – he still didn't know whether it was guilt, regret, anger, or even a mixture of the three – that accompanied the thought of the policeman in question.

Inside, the coach was a good deal fuller and excruciatingly quiet. Megumi was gazing absently out the side-window, her elbow on the sill and her chin in her palm, her hair caught by the harsh wind of their passing. Yahiko just fidgeted restlessly, his own petulant gaze shifting every now and then to the wooden shinai that Megumi had on her lap; he had been so edgy, gripping the practice sword, kneading the wood and almost hitting the young doctor in the head so many times that eventually she'd just taken it away from him.

Across from them, Kaoru, sitting quietly beside Kenshin with her hands in her lap, would glance sidelong at the redhead, looking as though she wanted to say something comforting but lacking the words.

Kenshin himself was slumped against the padded back, his head bowed with his bangs wisping around his face and his sakabatou held upright against his left shoulder, his right hand draped over the hilt and handguard. Of them all he was the one who seemed the most relaxed, almost asleep, until one looked more closely and saw that his knuckles were white from gripping his katana so tightly, or took a peek under the curtain of his hair and saw that his mouth was a thin, tense line.

All of the people in that carriage with him knew him well enough that making so close an examination was far from necessary.

The fact that Shinomori Aoshi had roused himself from his self-imposed solitude to get involved in whatever was going on was worrying. That he had encouraged haste only made it clear… the situation more dire than they had imagined.

"_Stop!"_

Sano's shout was loud enough to vibrate the ceiling an instant before the carriage was abruptly pulled to such a sharp halt that it sent Yahiko tumbling to the scant floor. Kaoru would have followed, but Kenshin's hand flashed out to grab the neck of her kimono and she instead ended up half sprawled on his lap, blinking up through her dark hair at his deer-in-the-headlights expression in slight confusion.

There was the twin thud of shoes on hard dirt and the coach rocked slightly as Sano jumped off the roof. Shaking off momentary shock, Kenshin flung open the door to see him standing in its shadow, his gi swept back and hands in his pockets, turned towards a tall man clad in a white-edged black uniform, waiting patiently by the tree-lined roadside just before the city proper.

"Aoshi-san!" Kaoru cried, scrambling off of Kenshin so he could get out of the carriage, Yahiko peering around the edge to aim a dirty look at the 'aku' symbol on Sano's back in retaliation for his fall.

"Aoshi," Kenshin said quietly as he approached the ninja, his expression a mixture of guardedness and apprehension. Any fatigue he had felt during the carriage ride was gone the instant he saw the tall ninja.

"Battousai," was Aoshi's bland reply, but Kenshin saw with a chill the way that his sharp features were tight with an otherwise invisible strain. "I have some things you should know before you reach the Aoi-ya."

"How're you gonna do that?" Yahiko shouted irritably from the doorway of the coach, scowling heavily with his hair looking even messier than usual. "There's no more room in the carriage!"

"Heh, that's easy," Sano smirked humourlessly, grabbing him by the scruff of his loose, light-coloured gi and tossing him onto the roof with an undignified yelp from the boy before clambering up himself.

Without a word Aoshi followed Kenshin into the carriage, taking the seat beside a tense, wary Megumi; then with a jerk they were off again, accompanied by a thump on the roof and a startled yell from Yahiko which was probably him almost falling off.

"What do you have to tell sessha, Aoshi?" Kenshin asked without further ado, meeting the ninja's impassive gaze with his violet eyes, not quite narrowed into his 'death glare' but still not the wide-eyed innocence of the rurouni.

"On the morning we received your telegram we went to check on Hiko Seijuro as you requested," Aoshi said emotionlessly, jumping straight to the point as was his wont; but then, uncharacteristically, he fell silent for a moment, evidently gathering his thoughts, and Kenshin's chest tightened fearfully. "We found him unconscious nearby his hut. There had clearly been a battle."

Kenshin heard Kaoru suck in a sharp breath somewhere beside him, but he was too stunned to notice, staring, pale, at Aoshi, the taciturn ninja's bangs shading his eyes in a way that on anyone else might have been an attempt to hide. "He… he lost, de gozaru ka?"

_That's impossible. Shishou would never have lost to anyone… he's too _strong_ to lose to anyone._ How often had Kenshin heard that? How often had his shishou bragged that no one could match up to his skill? Even when Kenshin was learning the ougi, the most Hiko would concede was that Kenshin would 'reach his ankles' in terms of power.

"We don't know," Aoshi replied. "His injuries were minor, only a few broken ribs and… a cut, but he hasn't woken up yet either. We took him back to the Aoi-ya."

"A cut?" Megumi spoke for the first time, pouncing on his slight hesitation, sounding cautious and near-hostile – which was understandable, considering the last time she and Aoshi had met he'd threatened to kill her.

"Mm. On his hand. It's strange because it could only have been done after the battle was over, but there seems little point in inflicting only a scratch if it had already been won." His words were matter-of-fact, but the slight rising of his brow allowed the others to offer their own interpretation or ideas.

"What are his other symptoms?" Megumi asked in a more business-like tone – although still wary – now it was clear that Aoshi wasn't about to draw his blades and attack her again.

Aoshi tilted his head a little to indicate that he'd heard her, but instead of answering the question he went on, "Lately I've been sensing strange ki around Kyoto. Stronger than normal people, but not like that of a swordsman. If they weren't so powerful I would think they were simple beasts."

"What does this have to do with Hiko-san?" Kaoru demanded when Kenshin said nothing, and Aoshi's eyes flickered sideways to look at her before settling back on Kenshin's thin, ashen face.

"There is one which is clearly intelligent and much stronger than the others. I've been tracking it, but I lost it the night before your message came. It was headed up the mountain."

_Towards Shishou._ Kenshin got his meaning instantly with a jolt of both anguish and hope. "You think they're connected, de gozaru." If they had a lead perhaps they could figure out what was really going on here, what someone would want with his shishou… what they'd done to him.

"Yes. Too many things have happened, too many coincidences. That same night there was some strange weather of a like I think you might recognise – the kind when a powerful swordsman is fighting for his life."

Kenshin unstuck his tongue from the roof of his suddenly-dry mouth, his eyes unfocussed with thought, his lips moving almost mechanically. "Then the fact that he is still alive…"

"Might well have been a mistake on their part."

That wasn't comforting. That wasn't comforting at all. "And these – these people? You've been searching for them, de gozaru ka?"

Aoshi didn't get a chance to answer; that was when the carriage stopped with a jerk, a yelp, and a scrabbling of hands on the roof. Ignoring the sounds, Aoshi opened the door and stepped out without saying anything, not appearing to notice the spiky-headed boy half-hanging over the edge, his face red from the wind and panting from the effort of holding on.

The others took the ninja's lead and followed, coming face-to-face with the broad timber front of the Aoi-ya inn, several stories tall and with distinctive red roof tiles. For a moment Kenshin stood and stared, unable to reconcile the familiar building with the thought that, somewhere inside, his shishou lay unwaking.

Then the panelled shoji flew open, breaking him out of his reverie. "Himura! You're here!"

"Oro?" Kenshin blinked, startled by the pixie-like face that had appeared in front of him, framed by uneven bangs. Far from making him feel better, the sight of Misao just made his stomach clench further; she wore a huge grin but he could tell it was forced, and her eyes were worried, darting around at the carriage and the people.

And she was wearing her Oniwabanshu uniform.

Behind her he saw petite Omasu peering around the wooden frame of the entrance, caught the glint of kunai as she tucked them back into her white obi. She was also in her shinobi robes, her eyes carefully regarding the traffic as it passed. Nor did she move until Aoshi had paid the driver of the carriage and they had all gone inside, shielded by the walls of the inn.

"They're really taking this seriously," Kaoru murmured quietly, a vein of apprehension in her voice as Aoshi and Misao led them through the narrow corridors of the building and out to the engawa looking onto the courtyard. It was frightening, seeing how on alert the Oniwabanshu were.

Misao heard her, turning around with a flip of her long braid to answer. "Of course we are," she said with uncharacteristic seriousness, for a moment seeming older than her age as opposed to the years younger she usually appeared. "Hiko-sama saved the Aoi-ya. If whoever did this is planning to come back for him, they're going to have to get through us first!" The impression was lost when she clenched her fist in front of her, her eyes narrowing and teeth baring in a comical threat to an absent foe.

"Sessha would like to see him now if that is possible, de gozaru," Kenshin said quietly.

"I need to see him as well," Megumi put in, her fine features looking grim and focussed, concealing the almost wondering mental query of how, exactly, Kenshin had known something was wrong, and with his master specifically.

Aoshi didn't answer, didn't even look around, but Kenshin knew he had heard. Instead the next words were from Okina, standing half-hidden behind an open shoji as they passed, a crumbled letter in his hand which he had obviously been reviewing when they arrived. "He's upstairs," the grey-haired old ninja offered, his piercing eyes meeting Kenshin's gaze. "Brace yourself, Himura-kun." And with that he slid the high-panelled shoji closed.

"He's been working on all our contacts to get information," Misao stage-whispered, not seeming to notice how Kenshin had tensed further at the man's words. "And we're trying to push everyone staying here out, just in case something does happen. If it keeps going on like this we might get a reputation… we're lucky we were nearly empty when the Juppongatana came."

By the time they reached a room on the far end of the inn, right at the back and in the most secure location of all, Kenshin was a nervous wreck. Not that you could easily tell by looking at him, of course; but his wrists twinged from his clenched fist and his grip on his sakabatou, and he was getting a headache from grinding his jaw.

Kenshin didn't know what he expected to find when Aoshi slid open the shoji and entered, Misao right behind him, the rurouni on their heels.

But he wasn't prepared to see his shishou lying on a futon, blankets drawn to his chin, as still and pale as death.

For a moment panic seized the redhead and he darted into the room with a cry of his master's name on his lips. "Shishou!"

He was on his knees at Hiko's bedside by the time he realized that the man _was_ breathing; but laying the back of his hand on his master's cheek, Kenshin felt sick with anxiety.

He was so cold.

Behind him Kenshin heard Kaoru gasp and Megumi's professional voice commanding the others to let her through, but he wasn't paying attention, even when the slim doctor came beside him and shifted his hand to check Hiko herself. He was too busy staring at his shishou's face, so stern and sharp even when he was unconscious, his jaw set with tension, his brow furrowed with some unknown effort.

"How long has he been like this?" Megumi demanded of Aoshi, gently but firmly pushing Kenshin aside and pulling down the blankets, opening Hiko's gi to check his expertly-bound ribs.

"Since we found him; perhaps five days," Aoshi answered as Kenshin moved around to his shishou's head, gingerly brushing back the long black hair that ruffled unbound around the swordsman's broad shoulders. "He wasn't as cold then as he is now, and nothing we do seems to warm him up at all."

"He shouldn't be this tense," Megumi murmured almost absently, and then frowned, her hand on Hiko's chest as she measured his respiration. "And he's breathing too slowly."

"Huh?" Misao blinked from where she sat straight-backed and cross-legged near the wall behind Kenshin, practically at Aoshi's feet as he stood against the closed window.

"It would take a professional eye to notice it, but he's breathing far too deeply even for unconsciousness. His heartbeat seems a little slow too." She laid a hand on his forehead, her brow still furrowed delicately. "And yet he doesn't have a fever."

"He was like that when we got there," Misao protested defensively, as though Megumi were blaming them for his condition, and Kenshin's jaw tightened, his violet eyes lowered to hide his distress.

"Perhaps not," Aoshi corrected thoughtfully. "I had been wondering if I imagined it… I don't think he was quite that bad before."

"And you don't have any clues on the bastard that did this?" Sano spoke up for the first time, his voice low and filled with disgust, though whether it was at the Oniwabanshu's lack of action or at the person responsible no one was entirely sure. It was hard to tell with Sano sometimes.

"I haven't sensed that ki in the city since the night it was going up the mountain," Aoshi answered, unperturbed by the near-hostility in Sano's voice. "But I'm certain that person is to blame."

"Gramps has got his contacts looking around for clues," Misao added brightly. "Similar attacks and things like that."

"Well then, why aren't _you _out there looking for clues?" Yahiko demanded aggressively. "What good's a ninja if you're not going out and doing stuff?"

Apparently he struck a nerve, because Misao was instantly up and baring her teeth at him angrily. "I'll show you what good I am," she fired back, enraged, a row of her gleaming daggers appearing between her knuckles.

Kenshin tuned them out, even as Kaoru moved to intercede and Megumi continued with her examination, Sano leaning back against the wall just next to the entrance ostensibly to watch the row.

_There's something wrong,_ the redhead realized, struggling to figure out what it was, frowning down at his shishou's handsome face in thought. _There's something missing, but I'm not sure –_

And with explosive comprehension that made his breath catch, he realized: he couldn't feel his master's kenki.

Aoshi must have read the sudden anguish in the rurouni's own aura, because as though reading Kenshin's mind he said quietly, "You don't feel it either?"

"Iie," Kenshin whispered, staring at Hiko's pallid features with dawning horror. If his shishou didn't have his ki – although he still breathed and was physically alive – Kenshin had heard of men who fell unconscious and simply never woke up, even though their hearts had still been beating.

He had heard that word before… what was it called?

_A coma._

A chill ran down his arms. Did that mean his shishou would never wake up? Or if he did… would what made him him still be there?

* * *

Somewhere far from the Aoi-ya, the waking world, and a place where things made sense in general, Hiko's pace slowed from a long, ground-eating lope to a measured walk, the swordsman breathing deeply, easily, despite the weight of the chains across his chest. They had stopped burning a while back, but he didn't feel safe to stop running until he could put some real distance between himself and those… things. At least this place, wherever it was, actually _had_ some concept of distance. Otherwise he'd be in a lot more trouble than he had thought.

And like before, it had gotten a little lighter; now he could see himself distinctly instead of just his silhouette. What's more, the ground seemed to have gained some texture – he still couldn't hear his footsteps but he could feel the thin crunch of dirt beneath his boots.

"Brilliant," he sighed aloud wearily, but still soft enough that the likelihood of something hearing him was remote. It didn't matter anyway, since the darkness muffled his voice just like it seemed to muffle everything else.

So he really didn't expect someone to reply, particularly not in a dry, somewhat resigned tone.

"I would hardly think so."

Weariness gone, Hiko whirled around with a clink of chains, instantly on high alert and just barely managing to keep from drawing his nihontou, not sure what kind of reaction he would get from his restraints. Inwardly he cursed his inability to use his ki, cursed the darkness' strange perchance for hiding the presence of others, even as his sharp eyes strained to see as far ahead as he could. Which was to say, not very far.

And yet, he did manage to catch sight of a figure, quite tall by a normal man's standards but not coming close to his own towering stature. It was too dark to see any details; the most he could glimpse was that the stranger's clothes seemed to be a shade of grey more akin to being blue, and that his hands were held outward in a gesture of peace.

"Who are you?" Hiko demanded, his hand drifting over Wintermoon's hilt despite the clear consequences for using it.

"Anou… so you can't see me?" The shade seemed almost surprised and, inexplicably, relieved. Definitely a man; his voice was clear, cultured, not light but not deep either.

"Not very well." Hiko admitted reluctantly, his narrow eyes on careful watch for that strange twist that heralded an attack from those strange creatures, just in case this was some kind of ambush – not that they needed it, if they wanted to press the advantage.

Yet at the same time he couldn't help but feel as though there was something familiar about this man; what, he couldn't tell, considering he couldn't even see his face, but there was something about the clothes…

"Well, that's better than I'd imagined it would be," the figure sighed, and Hiko caught the sway of a neat topknot as his head moved slightly as though looking at something else. "I hope you don't mind having an audience."

"Care to explain?" Hiko asked coldly, then winced internally at the unintentional threat. This man was the first person he'd come across and was sure to be able to give him some answers.

There was also the fact that he wasn't sure it would be _possible_ to hurt him

"We've been watching you," the man said simply, and Hiko swallowed a sarcastic retort, waiting with long-practiced and completely feigned patience. He didn't have to wait long, and he almost couldn't believe his ears at what came next. "The dead, I mean. No one seemed to recognise you, though – that is until that battle a little while ago."

_Did he just say the dead?_ "The dead have been watching me?" Hiko repeated with a note of disbelief in his voice. _Then again, considering what's happened so far…_

The figure dipped his chin in an affirmative. "Yes. You wouldn't be able to see them – not yet, at least, or until they decide to show themselves to you, like I have."

Those words served to emphasize Hiko's feeling that he should know this man – if he was to be believed, this _dead_ man. _Didn't he just say he was watching my battle? If you call_ that_ a battle. I call it humiliating. Why did he wait until afterwards?_ "And your reason for doing so?"

"I don't know who you are personally," the figure said quietly. "But those sword forms… I've seen _them_ before. Someone under my command fought like that."

The embers of a notion bloomed into a full-fledged suspicion. _Under his command. Kenshin. That uniform – it's Choshu's colour…_ "Give me your name."

The figure hesitated for barely an instant before conceding, his answer one that filled Hiko with a mixture of near-hysterical irony and strong sense of fury.

"Katsura Kogorou."

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Aku – 'evil'_

_Anou – 'um' or 'uh'. I think it's pretty much a filler word – an interjection. I was told that 'ano' meant something slightly different, so if I'm still in the wrong here, let me know._

_Futon – a Japanese bed, made of a thin mattress placed on the floor and folded up during the day_

_Hai – the more formal way of saying 'yes'_

_Haori – a jacket that can be worn over a kimono or gi_

_Iie – formal way of saying 'no'_

_Kenki – a swordsman's fighting spirit_

_-kun – another honorific usually used between boys, from superior to inferior, or to denote familiarity_

_Kunai – specially-made blades used for throwing and concealment_

_Oro – Kenshin's unique version of 'huh?' This one should go without saying as well…_

_-san – a more generalized honorific, equiavalant to English 'Mr' or 'Mrs', but can be applied to anyone, even enemies._

_-sensei – a honorific given to teachers and doctors_

_Shinobi – ninja_

_Yabai – informal term meaning something like, 'oh shit' or 'I'm in trouble!'_


	4. What Dreamers Seek

**A/N:**_ First off, if you haven't read a chapter which is entitled 'chapter three' up the top, you'd better click back a page and do so. I deleted the teaser that used to be at the beginning of the story for reasons to long too mention here, so all of the site's chapter numberings compared to mine have changed a little._

_Next, I know it's not allowed, but I have a single review response for Nemesis Jedi (if you have an account here on the site I couldn't find it) so everyone else, please don't lynch me (puppy-dog eyes) and just skip over this, since there's really nothing else I have to say at this point._

_So, Nemesis Jedi: your review is the longest one I have ever gotten (period, full stop, exclamation mark) and I love you for it. Would you believe, I find Hiko the easiest character to write? Aoshi's not far behind, and neither's Saitou or Kenshin, so maybe I'm just used to complex characters. Just don't get me into Misao, Yahiko – or Kaoru! (shudders) Oich, the trouble those guys give me._

_As for Hiko being too strong for any human to contest, well, that's why I decided on a supernatural medium (grins) since he's practically supernatural himself (although I love reading scenes where he and Saitou meet or interact… predators are so interesting when they're forced to confront each other, hehehe). Don't worry, you'll definitely see our favourite recluse stretching his limits._

'_Nuff said, before I get into trouble. Thanks to everyone for reviewing and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

** IV **

**WHAT DREAMERS SEEK**

Hiko snapped.

He was tired, he had been attacked twice in Kami-knows-how-long, he was someplace he didn't recognise involved in something he didn't understand, he had just been told he was being watched by dead people and now he was stuck in some weird purgatory with the man who had effectively stolen his deshi sixteen years ago.

There was barely time for the name to register before he was moving, his nihontou drawn with a ring of metal, rushing at the figure for an enraged Kuzu-ryusen. The steel cut through the figure like fog nine times in the space of a heartbeat, leaving Katsura blurrier than before but still quite intact.

A second later the chains kicked in; luckily Hiko had already arrested his charge and he managed to bear the abrupt, breath-stealing pain with little more than a slight stagger and a grit of his teeth, one steadying hand on the ground to keep his balance.

"Did that make you feel better?" Katsura asked quietly but without a hint of rancour or sarcasm, and Hiko didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or kill him.

"Not enough." he managed to say, suddenly too tired to be truly angry anymore. _Not nearly enough. _He shook off the residual ache of the restraints and got to his feet, sheathing his nihontou with a rattle of those damn chains.

"You should be careful with the way you swing that blade around," Katsura advised in a strangely gentle tone, watching him unmovingly. "The more it causes those chains to take ki from you, the closer you will be to death."

_I suppose that means I'm not too far gone yet. Kuso, what the hell did that woman do to me?_ "Where am I?" he asked instead, and almost cringed at the weariness in his voice. Since when had he felt so exhausted, anyway?

"We call it the Shadowold," Katsura offered readily. "But I suppose to the living it doesn't really have a name. What it's called isn't as important as what it _does,_ at any rate."

"Hn, and what's that?" Rapping his fingers on the wooden hilt of his sword, Hiko came to a decision and sat, the dirt rough beneath his hand as he tilted his upper body back to look up at the patriot with near-hostility, his other elbow resting on his upright knee. Seriously, if he hadn't suddenly felt so tired his pride might have complained a little more at accepting help, but if Katsura was willing to give him answers then he wasn't in the frame of mind to argue.

Katsura followed his lead and knelt with a relieved air, clearly thinking that Hiko had decided not to be too unfriendly. _Keh. Just wait,_ the tall swordsman thought mutinously.

"The easiest explanation would be that it bridges the gap between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead," Katsura said matter-of-factly, as though he talked about this all the time. As far as Hiko was concerned, maybe he did; Kami only knew what dead people talked about, after all.

He stifled the abrupt and undignified urge to laugh hysterically. When had his life become so bizarre?

_It's all my baka deshi's fault. It has to be. Nothing ever happened until he decided to come into my life – _both_ times._

"May I know your name?" Katsura requested politely, breaking into the slew of mental curses Hiko was directing at Kenshin.

Hiko considered this, but Katsura was being nothing if not accommodating and he figured it wouldn't really hurt for the former Ishin Shishi leader to know… certainly he would understand the implications. "Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth, Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu… and the man who raised one Himura Kenshin."

Hiko noted, with a prickle of real amusement and some relish, and it was apparently possible for dead people to go pale. Even though he couldn't really see much except a silhouette, it faded a little in what seemed to be the afterlife equivalent; but to Katsura's credit, his voice was steady when he answered. "I had thought as much… the style is rather distinctive, and some of your mannerisms are the same."

_How gratifying,_ Hiko thought sarcastically. _Being compared to my baka deshi by the man who made him a murderer._

"I didn't want it to turn out the way it did, you know," Katsura said quietly as though hearing his thoughts, and the remorse in his tone was so… _real_ that Hiko blinked in mild surprise. Curiosity overcame anger; exactly what kind of a man was Katsura Kogorou, to elicit such loyalty in his deshi?

"And yet you sent a child to be a slaughterer," he responded a little coldly, interested to hear the shade's response.

There was slight pause, and Hiko caught the movement of hands clenching in the shade's lap, was surprised by a tiny waft of what seemed like air on his skin. "Hai," was the near-inaudible answer, the tone thick with bitterness and not a little self-loathing. Katsura's emotions swept over Hiko, making his arms prickle, and with a start the swordsman realized that it was just like when he was feeling Okami no Kage's ki – involuntarily honest.

_So. It seems the dead cannot lie._

"I never saw him as a child," Katsura continued bleakly, his shadowed face lowered even though Hiko couldn't see it anyway. "He had such determination, such certainty in his beliefs. When I asked him if he could kill – he sounded so confident, I couldn't think of him as any less than a man. I was such a fool, and because of that I nearly destroyed him."

Hiko closed his eyes, his jaw tight against the shade's emotions, struggling to rise above the wash of sorrow and anger. _Shimatta! He really cared about my baka deshi, he really regretted what he turned him into._ How could he hate Katsura knowing how much the patriot despised himself for something so many others would have done without a second thought?

But Kami-sama, he couldn't take much more of this.

"Stop that," he said sharply through gritted teeth, and surprise won out over the hatred, giving Hiko the opportunity to centre himself with a deep, slow breath. When he opened his eyes it was to find Katsura staring at him with a definite air of astonishment.

"You could feel my emotions," the shade said with a faint sense of awe.

"Of course I could! It's hard not to, with the way this Kami-damned darkness projects it all!" Hiko snarled irritably, his fatigue and the slight pressure of a headache behind his temples making him grumpy.

Katsura shook his head, his straight-cut topknot swaying. "No, you don't understand. You're not the first to have come here without being physically dead, but you _are_ the first I know of who's been able to sense the darkness like ki." His tone shifted to dawning realization, as though he'd just solved a riddle he had been puzzling over. "That's how you managed to evade the yajuu no kage… you could sense them coming."

_Yajuu no kage._ Hiko restrained a sigh, thinking that he might have guessed; then he tensed, feeling that strange draught, fancying he could hear whispers somewhere beyond the darkness, and his eyes flickered sideways.

"You can hear them, can't you?" Katsura murmured almost to himself, watching Hiko closely.

"The dead?" the swordsman guessed without a flicker of incredulity or amusement on his suddenly impassive features. He felt like he had just about reached the threshold of believability; surely nothing could surprise him now.

"Aa. They're being a little loud. You can imagine this was unexpected."

"More so for who, exactly?" Hiko retorted wryly without intending to. It apparently took Katsura by surprise, because there was a moment of startled silence before the smaller man chuckled.

"Gomen. I forget you don't really know much about this place… you seem so calm under the circumstances." His tone turned wry to match Hiko's. "At least, when you weren't trying to kill me."

"I think we've established I'm a little too late to be responsible for that."

Another laugh. "Tashika ni."

There was another silence, but this one was actually comfortable – or as comfortable as it could get, considering. Sensing the ocean of Katsura's emotions had seemed to wash away most of the anger Hiko felt; although there was still a little core of resentment, it was more at the decision itself than any antagonism towards Katsura as a person.

Although that didn't stop him from wishing, vaguely, that Katsura was still alive so he could trounce him in a duel a few times.

It was Katsura who broke into Hiko's brooding, the swordsman glaring down at the manacle gleaming on his wrist, the chain clinking gently in the air. "Why don't you tell me how you managed to get yourself caught here," the patriot suggested patiently. "Those chains say it wasn't natural."

Hiko was almost surprised by the implication. "There are natural ways to get here?"

"Of course; several. The easiest is just to fall asleep. This," Katsura waved an arm in an encompassing motion towards the empty blackness Hiko could see of the surrounds, his navy-coloured sleeve billowing. "This is where dreams and nightmares come from."

_Not comforting._

"Some people come here when they're unconscious and their bodies are injured, and spend a long time wandering, searching for a way out," Katsura continued. "Those are usually the ones who are chained. Eventually a few of them manage to leave, but others just stay here in perpetuity – or at least until their physical bodies die." He examined Hiko's restraints critically, rubbing his neck absently. "But those are a different kind of chains to yours. They're not alive, they don't react at all, not like these. How did you get them?"

"A woman," Hiko conceded with a low growl, and the chains prickled warningly when his ki tried to rise. "She called herself Okami no Kage."

The reaction he received was immediate: a furious whisper of voices, a light breeze, and a noticeable clench of Katsura's jaw. Hiko raised his eyebrow sardonically. "I take it you've heard of her."

Katsura nodded shortly. "We've seen her victims here quite often. She is, best explanation, a figment of the Wold itself. A construct of all the nightmares, despair, all the insanity and bloodlust. She might have been something like the yajuu no kage at one stage; I don't know. But unlike them, she can move through the real world on her own, and that means she can provide the means for _them_ to leave the Wold. And so they follow her."

"She mentioned something about draining ki." Hiko noted quietly, not allowing any reaction to show on his face – not that there was much to show anyway. He had gone cold, emotionless, as he did when the situation was serious beyond any wit or arrogance.

"Hai," Katsura said grimly. "We don't actually know much about her nature, but then, there's not much else to do aside from hypothesise. We guess that she is how she is – sentient, I mean – because she absorbs the ki of others. Kami only knows how it began, but generally we see her 'prey', as she calls them, chained here for a while before they pass on."

"She also mentioned something about 'other purposes'." Hiko added, seemingly unmoved and not appearing to have been listening too closely; in reality he was taking in every word, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of thought and repressed anger. _Kuso. I truly wish I had managed to kill her when I had the chance._

"I imagine that would be the reason you're still here."

"What?"

Katsura shifted uncomfortably, the topic clearly making him uneasy, though from pity, fear or simple hatred Hiko wasn't entirely sure. "Those chains," the shade said quietly. "They drain your ki. She could have drained you already; usually, she would have. If she hasn't then she needs you for something."

Hiko didn't like hearing that. He didn't like hearing that at all. The thought that he was alive only on some shadow woman's sufferance did not sit well with the proud swordsman. "Such as?"

Katsura shook his head, his straight-cut topknot swinging. "I don't know. Something subtle, perhaps. Something that needs a constant source of power as opposed to an instant surge. I don't pretend to understand her, and frankly, I don't want to."

* * *

Kenshin sighed, willing his tense muscles to relax, struggling to bring about a peace which would let him rest. The timber of the wall was flat against his back, his hair tickling his lowered face, his sakabatou heavy against his shoulder; but though his eyes were closed, he could not sleep. 

He almost wished Megumi-dono didn't know him as well as she did, or at least wasn't as observant as she was. He hadn't been sleeping well at all since that first night, getting only snatches of respite, and when he did he dreamed of coldness, shadow, and darkness. Now he was paying for it, but even though the adrenaline had long since worn off he was still far from relaxed.

Megumi-dono had said his shishou didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, but his symptoms didn't seem to make any sense; she had a vague fear it was some sort of disease and, in her words, 'you're not going to be any good for anyone if you're exhausted and sick, Ken-san.' So she'd sent everyone out, although she had admitted that the fact the Oniwabanshu weren't ill was a good sign.

Kenshin suspected she was half looking for an excuse to get rid of him, for his own sake.

_Shishou…_ Kenshin's stomach writhed with apprehension. Although it was possible for swordsmen to veil their ki, and was in fact something Hiko did frequently, a state of deep unconsciousness made it impossible to conceal it to the point of making it seem nonexistent. Kenshin should have felt _something._ The fact he didn't made the situation all the more terrifying.

He was scared. He wouldn't have dared admit that to Kaoru-dono, would never undermine Sano or Yahiko's respect for him by telling them, but he was more scared than he had ever been. When Kaoru-dono had been kidnapped by Jin-e he had been furious rather than frightened; when Megumi-dono had been taken by Kanryu it was much the same.

But this was something he couldn't combat with steel, didn't know how to fix. And it was his shishou, the man who had raised him, taught him, had even accepted him back for the rest of his training when he had every right to refuse him. The closest Kenshin had ever felt to this was when Hiko had collapsed in front of his eyes, that horrific wound slashed across his chest, and Kenshin had realized that it was not a trick and did not have some kind of lesson he had to learn. His shishou had truly been about to die.

At least now _he_ wasn't the cause, but…

But the thought that Hiko might actually leave in the most final of ways, never be there to fall back on, never wield his blade in his deadly dance… just the _thought_ that someone as strong and wise – if arrogant – as Hiko was in the world had been enough to bolster Kenshin's spirit when at some of his lowest points, even though he didn't realize it. Not until he faced the possibility the swordsman might actually die.

_You can't die, Shishou…_ Kenshin thought almost despairingly, pitiably, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted against one of his most underlying fears of all as he echoed the desperate words he had spoken to unreceiving ears back then. _It isn't allowed for you to die…_

He shivered, but it wasn't from emotion; cold seeped through his clothes, and with a gasp his eyes snapped open. His chest wrenched as his hands closed on air, his sakabatou suddenly gone, and his found himself surrounded by nothingness. It wasn't darkness, not exactly, but there was no floor, no sky, nothing to be seen except greyness stretching past the nonexistent horizon. And that's when he realized that somehow he had fallen asleep, his exhaustion catching up to him.

Slowly he rose, his red gi somehow muted by the dullness of this place, his clothes rustling as he looked slowly around. "Is this where you are, Shishou?" he whispered almost without meaning to, his violet eyes wide with anguish as he took in the nothingness. "Asleep, lost, de gozaru ka?"

No answer, and though he told himself he didn't expect one he felt something inside him dim. Even in his dreams, his shishou was gone… is this what it was going to be like if he left for real?

Kenshin's fists clenched by his sides, trembling, his nails digging harshly into his palms. "Shishou…"

* * *

Hiko's head snapped around sharply, his intense eyes searching the gloom all around him as he automatically rose in a controlled, tension-filled movement, any exhaustion gone in a rush of adrenaline. "What is it?" Katsura asked uneasily, following his lead, the many folds of his loose clothes fading him even more into the darkness. 

"I thought I heard Kenshin…"

Almost instantly, as though answering his unspoken desire for it to be true and his deepest fear that it might be, the redhead's voice came again, overflowing with a distress that filled Hiko with alarm. _"Shishou, please…"_

Hiko could feel something now, a drift in the air, a ripple which was slow and hesitant, most unlike the sharp gather of the yajuu. He felt like shouting; how, in all the heavens and hells, had that fool managed to get himself lost _here_ of all places? _Baka deshi! I'm going to kill him!_

"He's probably not really here," Katsura offered as though reading his thoughts; or perhaps he had seen a flash of something in Hiko's eyes, a fleeting, quickly covered fear.

Or perhaps it was just because he knew he would be thinking the same thing in Hiko's place.

Whatever it was, Hiko latched onto it, managing to take an even breath and force down his emotions. "Then how…?"

"Dreaming, maybe. I didn't hear anything. Shades such as I can't see or hear dreamers when they visit; we can only feel their passing, and then, only faintly."

"_Are you going to make me come looking for you, Shishou, de gozaru ka?"_ Kenshin's voice sounded so pathetic, so like when he was a young boy trying to get his way with wide eyes and false tears that Hiko couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Kami-sama, baka deshi, do you think I'm hiding on purpose?" he exclaimed in frustration to the enveloping darkness.

He distinctly felt a swell in the gloom, and then, to his utter surprise, he received a stunned reply. _"Shishou?!"_

"Baka deshi?"

"_Shishou! Where are you, de gozaru ka?"_

Almost forgetting about Katsura now, Hiko took a few steps in the direction of the voice, his chains jingling, eyes flashing this way and that before being caught by a flame of red hair which translated into Kenshin's vibrant mane, unnaturally bright in the lifeless surroundings, seeming to illuminate the faded, washed-out colours of his clothes.

Only vaguely did Hiko note the way the darkness twisted around him, swirling, the shadows pushing Katsura away as though the tiny grey space in which master and apprentice stood was expanding to many times its size. Kenshin's violet eyes were lit with relief for an instant on seeing him, shifting almost instantly to shock as his gaze took in the draping, encompassing links; but that was the least of Hiko's worries. What if Okami could attack Kenshin through his dreams, what if he became a target?

"Baka! What are you –"

He didn't get a chance to finish. His chains exploded to life, and even though he had subconsciously been expecting it, it still took him by surprise. They twisted harshly, constricting around his chest and throat with such force that he recoiled with pain, his hands instinctively reaching to claw at the links at his neck. His knees buckled and hit the floor of nothingness.

Distantly he heard Kenshin cry his name, managed to look up through damp bangs to see the rurouni's eyes wide with something near to panic.

And he was receding, the darkness pulling him away at a rapid pace even though his legs and arms were pumping in a full sprint to keep up.

_No,_ Hiko realized through the tight bands of pain around his body. _No, _I'm_ the one moving away._

He almost didn't have to think about it. One hand flashed to Wintermoon's hilt, drew it with a ringing cadence; then he thrust it into the empty ground with a flash and ripple of darkness that washed around him. The chains wrenched at him cruelly, cutting into flesh, and he gasped involuntarily; but he stopped, he stopped, and suddenly Kenshin was there, falling to his knees before him.

"Shishou! Shishou, what's happened to you?"

"No – time –" Hiko managed through gritted teeth, the chains vibrating so violently with a shrill, rising hum that it made his whole body shudder in accompaniment, the restraints struggling to haul him back. The blade of his sword resonated with the motion and the sound, adding its own soft refrain to the darkness. His knuckles were white on its hilt, shaking with effort. "Deshi – find – the one-eyed woman – Okami – no Kage – she's –"

The chains yanked on him a second time, wailing louder, hurting his ears, and Hiko's face contorted at the bizarre and painful sensation of abrupt spacelessness, as though he had been dragged away and simply snapped back into position. _Kuso –_

"Shishou, speak to me, de gozaru yo!"

"Not – human –" Hiko gasped, every single breath an effort, the restraints contracting around his chest to the point that he could hardly find the air to speak. He didn't have any time left. "Beware – the shadows – deshi –"

And with a wrench he jerked Wintermoon free, managing to meet Kenshin's ashen gaze for barely an instant before the darkness rocketed back towards him in a debilitating rush and he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Takani Megumi liked to think of herself as a pretty fair doctor. She knew her remedies, she knew how to diagnose all of the common diseases known, and she was excellent at analysing drugs and poisons – not that there was often much difference between them. 

But whatever had Kenshin's shishou in this state had her stumped. The only kind of open wound he had was the cut on his palm, but Aoshi had already checked it for poison and found nothing, so they had to rule it out as the source of Hiko's strange condition. Megumi didn't like to say it, but she had no idea what it was, let alone what to do about it. He wasn't about to drop dead at any moment, but the truth was that if things went on in this way for too long…

With a sigh she laid a hand on his bare chest, silently measuring his breathing again, eyes on the small square clock she had asked Omasu to bring up for her. A minute later she relaxed slightly, lifting her hand to rub her forehead somewhat wearily. _At least he doesn't seem to be getting worse. Yet._

'Yet' being the operative word. It was only a matter of time. It was always only a matter of time.

Gently she brushed aside the bangs shading his closed eyes, silently feeling his temperature; still cold. Far, far too cold, unnaturally so. If she wasn't a scientist and didn't believe in superstition she might just have thought he was cursed.

For a moment her gaze lingered on his face with a tiny frown, her fingers absently trying to smooth out the harsh lines which marked his handsome features. He really shouldn't be this tense…

"Megumi-sensei?" A quiet voice from over by the shoji made her pull back, turning to face Okon as the young physician absently brushed at the wisps of hair which had escaped from the cloth holding it back. The female ninja stood in the entrance, failing to hide concern in her slanted eyes. Like all the others she was in her shinobi robes, the long slitted skirt of her kimono draping around her thighs, her long hair kept off her angular face only by a thin blue headband. "How is he?" she asked softly, her worried gaze on the tall swordsman lying near the far wall.

"No worse," Megumi offered diplomatically, pulling the blanket up a little to cover him.

"But no better." Okon caught onto her unsaid words and Megumi couldn't help but smile inwardly a little wryly. She should really know better than to dance around the truth with a ninja. They always saw what was left hidden.

She had just drawn away when it happened. Hiko abruptly stiffened, his jaw clenching and head thrown back against a strangled moan of pain that forced its way through his gritted teeth. His trembling hands clutched the futon, his breaths changing from slow and steady to gasping, struggling.

_What the…?_ Instantly Megumi's hands went to his shoulders to hold him down in case he was having a seizure and she found that he was shaking with some kind of effort, almost as though he was _fighting _something. _I don't understand…_

"Get me a cup of hot water!" she ordered Okon without turning around, and heard the woman's hurried footsteps as she left, but didn't bother to look around, too focussed on the suffering man before her. _What is this? Poison?_ She hadn't detected any, and if it was, it was one she'd never seen before.

She was forced to discard the possibility to a second later when, before her very eyes, she saw the skin around his throat bruise and redden as though something was digging into him. _Are those…?_

Marks, chain marks, like the ones on Hiko's wrists which Aoshi had shown her; but those had been faint, if visible, while these…

"What's happening?" Aoshi's alert voice made her jump, and if it had been anyone else she would have thought he sounded almost worried.

"I – I don't know –"

The swordsman's eyes were flickering wildly beneath their lids, the chords on his neck standing out with the force of his clenched jaw. The marks lashed down his chest, leaving his torso marred with red and blue-black, two of the lines nearly parallel to the recently healed slash of Kenshin's Amakakeru Ryu no Hirameki and another crossing over them to disappear down his side and beneath his bandages. _Like they're – restraining him –_

She felt Aoshi's presence beside her just as she decided that Hiko didn't need to be held back and moved to check his erratic pulse. "They're on his wrists, too," Aoshi noted quietly, but with a hint of… something, something hard, in his tone.

"Here," Okon ran back into the room, light-footed, with a wooden cup of steaming water held carefully in her slim hands. She took in the scene with an ashen face as Megumi fumbled with her rectangular, many-drawered medical box, searching for a packet of painkillers.

_Where is it… where is it?_

What a laugh… unprepared because she wouldn't have expected to need to use an anaesthetic on a comatose man. As it was it was dangerous; it could lower his blood pressure more than it already was, but he was in so much _pain –_

Then, beside her, Hiko suddenly relaxed, if it could be called that; his chest still heaved with gasping breaths, his hair was damp with sweat, but he no longer seemed to be suffering, his hands curled limply in the fabric below him. Chilled, confused, Megumi just stared at his pain-lined face, paler than before, practically grey, and then at the tiny trickles of blood which traced those long, ugly marks, the skin broken in several places. "What… just happened?"

She knew that it was unprofessional of her to say something like that, unprofessional to admit that she didn't have a damned idea what was going on, but she couldn't help it. _Kami-sama… maybe he _is_ cursed…_

"Do… do you still need…" Okon gestured with the cup, sloshing some of the water when her hands trembled slightly, and somewhat dazedly Megumi straightened, letting her hands fall from the thin drawer she had just opened. Numbly she answered, her mind falling back on its knowledge now her emotions had shut down from sheer confusion and uncertainty.

"No… it's dangerous to give him anything that might stop pain, because they usually put people to sleep… and sleep's his problem… but a little bit might have helped…"

Beside her Aoshi was grimly inspecting the swordsman's wrists, gently blotting the wounds with the bandages that had been folded nearby, but Megumi still couldn't seemed to move.

She couldn't stop staring at Hiko's face, remembering what it had looked like before; so… so _tortured._ This trip was the first time she had laid eyes on Hiko Seijuro, but she had received an abridged version of the events when she arrived in Kyoto the last time, and then overheard an infatuated Okon rhapsodising about him to an amused Omasu… and even in sleep, even as pale and obviously ill as he was, he still hadn't looked vulnerable at all. She could easily believe what she had heard. What had happened…?

"Aoshi." Another familiar voice from the direction of the shoji made her jump, her wide eyes turning almost guiltily towards Ken-san.

_Oh, Kamis – what am I doing, just sitting here –_

The redhead looked tired, more tired than when she had sent him off to bed, but there was something in his face that she hadn't seen since they had left Tokyo. Or rather, there was a _lack_ of something. His resolve shone through the uncertainty that had been there previously, and Megumi couldn't help but stare. _What…?_

"Aoshi," Ken-san repeated, his determined violet eyes on the tall ninja. "Sessha needs to speak with you, de gozaru yo. Now."

* * *

**A/N:**_ 'it isn't allowed for you to die' has to be about my favourite line in the entire manga. In all of seven words, Kenshin has just revealed everything that is left unsaid about his and Hiko's relationship, and I love it to bits, I had to put it in there._

**Glossary:** _These are going to be short from now on, since they were so long before that I decided to cut down to translations I haven't used in previous chapters._

_Aa – informal 'yes'. Some of the resources I used suggested the inflection is akin to 'alas' or something similar, and I've heard it's usually only used by males_

_Gomen – informal apology_

_Tashika ni – informal phrase meaning something like 'without a doubt' or 'certainly'_

_Yajuu no kage – beast of shadow. I don't think that Japanese uses plurals the same way English does, so the literal translation is singular, but in context it would change… please tell me if that's wrong…_


	5. Of Shadow and Chains

**A/N:** _Back once again. I hope everyone's having a good holiday, Christmas, whatever. May as well say an early Happy New Year's while I'm here as well!_

_Something important to say this time, mostly due to my own impatience to start writing without waiting for ideas to completely unfold. I had a brainwave (which really would have come to me in time if I'd just let it) which clashes which some chapters I've already posted. In story terms, it's important. In terms of what's actually up here, it's not. So before everyone gets worried, this isn't a warning of a major rewrite; it was actually very simple to fix. But it does create a discontinuity for those of you who have already read the relevant chapter (chapter 2) which all of you no doubt have. If you want to go back and reread, that's fine. It's mentioned in this chapter anyway and you'd probably all be able to figure out what it is, so if you don't want to go back, just pretend the previous chapters were already written with this in mind._

_Anyone who isn't Nemesis Jedi, you may skip this tiny little note and continue. NJ, do you have an email address or something I can use to reply to your reviews? There's so much I want to say, but I think it's be pushing the rules a bit far to say it all here (looks sheepish). Although, I do swear you read my mind...  
_

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed and I hope you continue to enjoy._

* * *

** V **

**OF SHADOW AND CHAINS**

Hiko woke.

For several moments he just lay there, eyes closed, breathing regular… and body aching so much that for a moment he had to wonder whether his shishou had come back from the dead just to beat up on him.

_Kami-sama. I have enough shades wandering around watching me; the old man's the last person I need._

There was also the fact he wasn't sure if he could handle it, considering it had been he who sent him to the grave, but that was beside the point.

"Hiko-san?" a familiar, vaguely anxious voice asked him.

Speaking of shades…

With a slight sigh Hiko forced open his reluctant eyes, blinking in the unexpected clarity of his vision. Katsura's head was hovering over him, brow furrowed in concern, and now Hiko could make out the smooth complexion, the startlingly intense eyes, the single lock of black hair which fell elegantly across his face.

"I can see you properly now," the swordsman stated bluntly, in a tone that some might have considered rude. "Which, if I recall, you said before was a bad thing."

Katsura's expression turned grim, sitting back on his legs to give Hiko a little more space. "Very much so, I'm afraid. The more you can see of _our_ world, the less you're a part of _yours._ When the point comes that you can see… well, everything, then you know that your physical body has died – and you're here to stay. The restraints will fall off then, but I suppose the point would be moot."

"You _suppose?_" Hiko echoed mockingly, pushing himself into an upright position with a disturbing lack of the dizziness he'd expected. Katsura just sighed, choosing not to respond, and Hiko felt a brief pang of disappointment. He really needed someone to antagonise right now… if only those Kami-damned chains didn't react so badly to him talking to his baka deshi.

"Was it Himura, then?" the former Ishin Shishi commander asked quietly. "I couldn't see. You faded into a dreaming state."

"Hai," Hiko grunted, shaking the chains off his arms irritably, absently rubbing the skin when he could still feel the lingering sensation of them pressing into him. "It was him. I tried to warn him… about _her._ Is he in danger?"

"Doubtful," Katsura told him with a thoughtful frown. "Not unless she realizes his link to you. If she does find out that you still have a tie to the mortal world, she might try to remove it."

Hiko's eyes flickered amber for a split second and Katsura blinked, uncertain that he'd even seen it – but only until the next moment. "If she dares," Hiko growled in a low voice, "To touch my deshi or anyone close to him _she will regret it._"

His tone was so deep, so menacing, that it made a shiver run down Katsura's spine, and despite the fact that he knew better he couldn't help but believe the swordsman, even though he noted several derisive shakes of the head from some of the other shades nearby. "Then let's hope she doesn't find out," he said quietly instead. He remembered how anguished Kenshin had been during the Bakumatsu… the thought of Okami having gone after him then, the knowledge that he wouldn't have had any defence against her, made his skin crawl. How much different could he be now?

_He was so broken…_

"But I don't understand…" Hiko muttered, his long bangs now shading his eyes, and Katsura snapped out of his funk.

"What?"

"Why should she care about Kenshin? Why would she care that I have a link to the mortal world?"

There was something Hiko felt he was _missing_ in all of this. Katsura said he was being kept alive only because Okami needed him, but then why would it matter that she strictly went after loners? Was it because she didn't want _any_ of her victims to have ties back to life? If so, _why?_

"Because it gives you a means of escape," was Katsura's answer. "I don't know how it works; I don't think it's ever happened before."

"But then why would it matter that _all_ her victims be completely cut off?" Hiko murmured, almost to himself, sifting through what he knew and what his instincts told him was wrong. "If she can drain their ki virtually immediately, they wouldn't have _time_ to break their chains, whether they had a link or not. Why would it matter…?"

Silence, and Hiko got the indistinct impression from the remnants of the darkness that Katsura was vaguely stunned; the kind of state when you had just realized something important that you had been missing all this time, but which was so obvious you should have realized it sooner. "I… I don't know…" the shade said finally.

For a moment there was pensive stillness, both of the two locked into their own thoughts, until Hiko finally broke the hush. "Katsura…"

Katsura looked up from his contemplation of his lap, intense eyes focussing on the shadowed face of his companion just across from him. "Yes?"

"_Is_ there any way to get out of here… something I can do from this side?"

"Anou…" Katsura lapsed into quiet and Hiko didn't speak, patiently waiting. "Some of the shades," the man eventually said slowly, in that tone someone used when they were thinking as they talked. "Believe that she must have some kind of… _doorway,_ for want of a better word, in order to cross to the mortal world. If we find that doorway…" he trailed off, not sure exactly what they could do if they found it, but it was enough for Hiko.

"Any particular direction?"

Katsura shook his head. "I'm not sure; it could be anywhere. But it almost certainly would have an effect on the darkness… you'd probably be able to sense it if you got close."

"Anywhere?" Hiko frowned. "Does this place even have location, or just landscape?"

Katsura smiled wryly. "As I said, the Wold is a place between the mortal world and the afterlife. So no, as such, the Wold doesn't have location. The afterlife, however, _parallels_ the mortal world. Right now, we're sitting somewhere on the outskirts of Kyoto."

* * *

Saitou Hajime was baffled. Saitou hated being baffled. It was his least favourite state of mind, right up there with the loss of control he was cursed with when he drank alcohol. Mind you, they could be considered related in a way; Saitou was never baffled unless there was something he wasn't in control of.

Like, oh, _information._

Thin lips rising slightly in a wordless snarl, Saitou tossed aside the page he'd just been holding, leaning back in his wooden chair and surveying the cluttered table with a distinctly grumpy expression. Not that anyone would have dared to call it 'grumpy'. Well, except perhaps Sagara Sanosuke or Saitou's wife Tokio. Or Okita Souji, if he had still been alive.

Piercing amber eyes glaring at the documents and books scattered over the long desk as though they would tell him what he wanted to know simply by giving them his feared Look, Saitou absently flicked the cigarette between his fingers, sending ash to the tiled floor and smoke curling to the bare ceiling, casting strange reflections in the night-darkened windows.

_Too bad the broom-head is out… I could use some entertainment._

Saitou had been working on this case for two weeks already and found absolutely nothing which could lead him to its perpetrator. Chou had already tried to go on strike once, since Saitou just kept on sending him out for more information, but as a result of the fruitless search Saitou wasn't in a very accommodating mood and after shearing off the top layer of the former Juppongatana's blond spikes the spy chose not to complain again.

Blowing out a cloud of smoke and tilting his head back against the top of the chair, Saitou closed his narrow eyes to mentally review the information he already had.

For the thousandth Kami-damned time.

It was a murder case – a _serial_ murder case, and since all the victims were offed in the same manner it was a logical assumption that the same person was responsible. At least, it _had_ been a logical assumption, but finding few links between them led Saitou to open his mind to the opposite possibility. For the moment, however, all he had to work on was the similarities between the deaths.

He snorted. Similarities? Understatement. Every single victim was the same: abnormally cold, even for corpses, so much so that one or two had even been found with a thin layer of frost in their hair; unmarked by any kind of a blade or bludgeoning weapon, although several had shown faint signs of chain marks on their wrists. Autopsy had reported no illnesses and no poison leftover in their systems, but the length of time between death and when the bodies were found was plenty long enough for any poison to had degraded already, which didn't leave him much to work with.

But it was the only explanation for the nature of the deaths, though Saitou had to wonder exactly how someone had managed to poison most of them with such precision without leaving a trace of a struggle… even the ones who had been restrained didn't showing any signs of being overpowered.

Then there was the fact that most of them had been lowlifes, nobodies, the kind of person you'd expect to find in a Kuruninmura, a Fallen Village. The kind with nothing to live for, who had thrown everything away. What purpose could there be in poisoning people like that? If it was someone who killed simply for sport, he could understand, but in his long experience _those_ killers liked to hear their victims scream, liked to see them bleed.

So. Victims were usually either nobodies or yakuza (who were still classified as 'nobodies' in Saitou's book), although a few had been middle-class people who lived alone or, for whatever reason, weren't missed. That was another connection between them: none of the victims had anyone who cared about them enough to actually worry when they didn't turn up for a few days. Every single body had been found either by the police themselves, or by a random citizen who noticed the smell.

_So the perpetrator is clearly trying to avoid drawing attention._ His brow furrowed slightly over still-closed eyes even as he puffed again on his cigarette, the smoke a familiar, almost soothing scent.

Something wasn't right. Even though it _seemed_ clear that the madman was trying to avoid attention, Saitou's gut told him there was something else to it; some other reason.

_So what else? Assuming they don't care about being in the limelight, that would mean they choose their victims for another reason. And the biggest link between them is that they're all loners._

Which just brought him back to the question: what the hell did the culprit want with people like _that?_

_I need a motive._

There had been a similar case in Tokyo about ten years back, with the exact same pattern and signs of death, but there had been no headway on catching the criminal then either, so it didn't help him much. Plus, it seemed as though whoever-it-was had stepped up their activities; the death rate now had almost tripled what it had been last time.

He felt an anxious ki approaching the resource room from down the corridor and opened his eyes. _The broom-head is back._

A few seconds later the door opened and then shut again hurriedly, and it was only then that Saitou looked up, stubbing his cigarette out in the metal ashtray nearby among the stacks of books. "Give me something." He ordered hard-heartedly without even a greeting. _He had _better_ have something worth giving…_

"Nice to see you too," Chou grumbled, his flame-hemmed kimono wafting around his ankles as he dumped a stack of papers on the corner of the table, but he didn't dare complain further, not with the way Saitou's eyes were narrowing at him warningly. Geez did the guy get grumpy when he had nothing, but why did the Kami-damned wolf have to take it out on him?

The spiky-haired blonde caught a glimpse of the night outside the window and shivered involuntarily, suddenly remembering why he had been so anxious to get inside. He'd overheard some of the rookie officers talking as he went out; something about people seeing strange animals roaming around the city at night, things with claws and teeth that you didn't want to meet in a dark alley.

So maybe the Mibu wolf was a little rabid, but Chou preferred to stick with the devil he knew, thank you very much.

That was before he caught the displeased gleam in Saitou's eye as he looked at the stack of new documents Chou had just brought in, and the spy had to wonder exactly what he'd done to deserve this.

* * *

Sano fidgeted restlessly, drumming his fingers against his chin as he stared with anxious boredom out the open window and into the night-shrouded copse of trees in the centre of the dimly-lit courtyard. A well-chewed spine of fish bones hung from his lips, the remnants of the dinner the Oniwabanshu had treated them to a while back; a dinner it had taken all of Sano's willpower to scoff as though nothing was wrong.

He didn't care if he got a few whacks from Jou-chan's bokken for being 'insensitive' – the fact she was willing to beat him up was worth all the bruises he received. Kenshin needed their support right now; what he _didn't_ need was for them to mope around as though someone was dying.

Which was the problem… for all they knew, for all even the fox-lady knew, someone _was._

Idly the spiky-headed young man turned, putting his elbows up on the wooden sill to watch Yahiko practise his lunges furiously across the empty room. The kid's eyes narrowed in concentration and each movement was more forceful than they should have been, characterized by pent-up energy. Sano could sympathise; everything in him was telling him to go out and _do_ something, but there was nothing to be done. At least Yahiko could train, but all Sano had was a thin veil of patience.

Some more callous part of him suggested that retreating to a whorehouse or looking for some good men to gamble with and good sake to drink wasn't really that much a waste of his time, but he squashed it brutally. He was _not_ going to abandon Kenshin like that. Not after seeing the redhead's face when he saw his shishou.

It was the same expression Sano imagined he had worn when Sagara Souzo had been executed.

He'd heard so many things about Hiko; about his arrogance, about his apathy towards Kenshin, about his indifference towards Japan's plight… about how he'd saved Yahiko.

He'd never spoken to the man, but what little he did see just reminded him vaguely of Saitou – how he'd stayed only long enough to hear that Kenshin was going to live before leaving, how his few other visits had been characterized by sarcasm and haughtiness. The intense respect which the others had afforded the swordsman had only confused him.

But the instant, harsh impression he had received upon their recent arrival at the Aoi-ya was that that arrogant, condescending, skilful bear of a man was Kenshin's Sagara Souzo.

Sano remembered the helpless, lost feeling from when he was a child, looking upon his idol's severed head, that noble patriot branded a traitor. It made him want to kill whoever was making Kenshin feel it now.

And yet all he could do was wait.

"Hellooo?"

Sano blinked to find Misao right in his face, her eyes wide and innocent, and he just barely managed to keep from flinching back from her proximity. Instead he snorted and turned away, pushing her aside. "I hear yah," he muttered slightly belligerently, irritated at being caught out.

"Well, finally!" Misao exclaimed, straightening up to put her hands on her hips, her feet planted firmly apart. "What were you thinking, anyway, I've been calling you for the past five minutes!"

_Che, no way am I telling her that!_ Sano eyed her doubtingly. "Yeah, right, weasel-girl. I ain't been out of it that long."

As expected – and intended – she immediately flared up at her hated nickname. "Don't call me weasel!" she shouted, stamping her foot childishly, and Sano smirked, satisfied he had successfully deterred some uncomfortable questions.

Then he saw Kaoru, sitting against the other wall with her bokken in her lap and her anxious eyes fixed on the open shoji opposite him, through which the base of the upward-leading stairs could just be seen, and realized that someone else could probably use the distraction. "Oi, I'm not the one who's missing in action around here," he told Misao, jerking a thumb at the kenjutsu instructor, who had changed into her training clothes in response to the tenseness of the ninjas.

_She looks so worried…_ Misao chewed her lip for a minute before moving to plop down next to the older girl, and with a jump Kaoru turned to look at her through the thick strands of her black hair.

"Oh… did you want something, Misao?" Kaoru asked distractedly.

"You're worrying about Himura, aren't you," Misao said bluntly and with her usual tactlessness, making Kaoru jump for the second time in a minute, this time with a faint blush.

"Of course I am," Kaoru spluttered, for once not bothering to deny it. "How this must all be affecting him – it must be terrible!" Her eyes softened, turning back towards the shoji, and her hand rubbed the smooth wood of her bokken absently, unaware when Yahiko paused to mop his forehead or that Sano was listening with half an ear. "I remember when my father was away," she said softly. "How worried I was, how scared I was that he wasn't coming back, until finally he didn't. Sometimes I wished I had a chance to say goodbye, but now…" She blinked rapidly, trying to hide the fact that her eyes were shining suspiciously. "Now I have to wonder if I could have stood it, seeing him so ill and frail… and knowing that there was nothing I could have done… I can't imagine…"

"I can," Yahiko said unexpectedly, staring grimly at the floor with his arms stiff at his sides, his fist clenched around the handle of his shinai, and the girls looked at him, surprised. "My mother was ill for the last few years she was alive. It's probably eating Kenshin up, knowing there's something wrong and being unable to fix it." And he clamped his mouth shut with an intensity which suggested he would not speak for the rest of the night, raising his shinai once again with a steely and yet almost hollow look in his eye.

Kaoru stared at him for a moment, startled by the observation coming from a boy she kept on thinking as so much younger than her, and stifled the urge to go and wrap him in a hug. _This is all affecting us, not just Kenshin,_ she thought despondently. _Hiko-san wasn't around that much, but he always seemed so strong and larger than life. It must be killing Kenshin to see him like this._

She itched to go to the redhead, even though she had no idea what she'd say, but she knew that he hadn't been sleeping well recently and didn't want to disturb him from the rest Megumi had ordered him to take. _Just remember that you don't have to face this alone, Kenshin,_ she told him mentally, leaning her head back against the wall to stare unseeingly up at the panelled ceiling. _You're too good at making yourself alone even when there are others around you, but you don't have to be. We won't let you be._

Muffled footsteps came from down the stairs, making all four of them turn towards the entrance in time to see Megumi step onto the ground floor, absently brushing at loose strands of her fringe, frowning with worried thought. "How is he, fox-lady?" Sano asked in an almost careless tone, but the intensity of his narrowed eyes belied his seeming indifference.

Megumi's mouth tightened as she swept off the cloth around her head, running slender fingers through her hair. "Not good," she admitted in a low voice, and Kaoru's grip tightened on her bokken, suppressing a shiver at the older woman's already weary expression.

"He can't be that bad," Misao protested desperately, sitting up poker-straight with her hands on her crossed legs. "I mean, he's Kenshin's master – he can't be _that_ bad –"

Megumi shook her head and sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with him," she said in a tone thick with so much frustration that Kaoru felt like she could drown in it. "None of his symptoms make any _sense_ – if it's an illness it's not like one that _I've _ever seen before, and yet half the time it seems like he's just asleep…"

"You said that he's as cold as death," Sano growled, levering himself up from his slouch against the open window. "How can he be 'just asleep'?"

"Whatever's wrong with him apparently isn't stopping him from having nightmares, even though other indications suggest his coma is past the state of dreaming," Megumi retorted. "If I didn't know any better I might have thought he was delirious, but he has no fever – and –" she cut off suddenly, her expression twisting to an odd mixture of something Kaoru couldn't identify.

"And what?" she found herself asking, and wondered exactly when she'd started speaking. Megumi met her gaze, and instantly the kenjutsu instructor's heart clenched, suddenly wishing she'd never asked. The doctor's eyes looked so bleak, so… so frightened, almost…

"Chain marks," Megumi said quietly, with a noticeable tremor which she either didn't notice or just ignored, her gaze unfocusing with eerie remembrance. "They just… appeared…"

Kaoru shuddered at her tone of voice.

"You mean like – the chains marks Aoshi-sama told you about before…" Misao faltered, and Megumi snapped out of her reverie with a slight shake of her head, her long hair tossing against her back.

"Not exactly," she answered evasively, her expression clearing to an impassive façade she wore so often as a doctor, her words suddenly guarded as they hadn't been in her fatigue and confusion. "I need to talk to Ken-san about it, though. Do you know where he is?"

Three out of four sets of eyes stared at Megumi blankly. _Isn't he upstairs, asleep?_ Kaoru wondered uncomprehendingly.

"I saw him a while ago," Misao offered, eyeing the doctor as though wondering how she could get the rest of the information out of her. "He and Aoshi-sama were going out somewhere, but I don't know where."

Megumi frowned as Sano flicked his fish bone aside and rose, stretching in a far-too-casual way. "He shouldn't be walking around at this time of night," she muttered, casting a jaundiced eye towards the darkness outside. "He needs to _sleep._"

"So do you, fox-lady," Sano clapped a hand to her shoulder. "If you like I can go look for him."

"No," Megumi sighed. "He wanted to talk to Aoshi-san about something, and it looked important. Best to leave them be. They'll be back when they're back." With that she turned towards the kitchen, probably to get herself some tea; but Sano noted that she never reacted to his first comment and looked after her thoughtfully until a snappy innuendo from Yahiko made him flare in response, exaggerating his indignation in an attempt to chase away the grimness of the atmosphere. He was partly successful: Misao watched their roughhousing with faint bemusement, but Kaoru, casting the pair only a slight, distracted glance, slipped out the doorway and up the stairs to take up the watch.

* * *

Aoshi walked absorbed in thought, distantly aware of Himura as the swordsman cast anxious sidelong glances towards him, his red hair glistening in the faint lanterns lining the darkened street at irregular intervals. Their paces were expertly matched, utterly soundless, both of them seeming to fade into fleeting shadows and neither actively paying attention to the random late-night pedestrians they passed, although both of them noted that the locals seemed hurried and nervous, their eyes darting about apprehensively.

The ninja's first instinctive thought upon hearing Himura's story was to reject it as ridiculous, but Aoshi was a firm believer in the probability of possibility. What had happened to Hiko defied all reason and explanation; therefore, something was happening which was slightly less believable. In addition, he had sensed something which might match Himura's account: for an instant he thought he had felt Hiko's ki flare into something approaching a normal sleep-state, before being… smothered, perhaps was the best description. It was that which had drawn him to the room.

And besides, how could he refute Himura's story; he, who had been so lost in a particular sort of insanity, so haunted by the ghosts of his dead comrades?

"Okina has been gathering data from our contacts regarding similar occurrences," he said finally, breaking the nervous silence, his voice soft in the night, not even accompanied by the sound of their footsteps. "We know there has been a recent surge of murders, so there's a good chance of a lead and he should get back to us soon with some comprehensive information. I'll ask him if he can get the word out to look for a one-eyed woman; if we're lucky we may get a few witnesses to connect her to some of the deaths."

Relief flashed over Himura's fine features and the redhead nodded, clearly thankful that Aoshi had believed him. "As for this warning about 'shadows'," the ninja continued without even a flicker at Himura's expression, "It may be a suggestion that assassins are involved, although Jin-e wasn't so long ago, if I recall, and I doubt many of the officials will have forgotten that either." Generally they were the only ones wealthy enough to afford any decent assassins, but some of the more unscrupulous citizens probably wouldn't think twice about using one even so close after the Jin-e debacle.

"And his assertion that this woman isn't human, de gozaru ka?" Himura asked softly, citing the comment which had worried him the most about all the information his master had given him. His head was lowered just enough for his shaggy bangs to shade his eyes, though Aoshi could see their glint as the former hitokiri automatically scanned the street for danger, his hand on the leather-wrapped hilt of his sakabatou. Aoshi's own dual-bladed saya was light in his grasp, the main kodachi pointed towards the ground and the long sheath steady against the back of his arm, another shadow in amongst the black fabric of his uniform.

"Irrelevant," Aoshi said quietly. "There is little we can do to prepare without knowing what she is, but human or not, she needs to be found."

Himura nodded absently, clearly occupied in his own thoughts, which suited Aoshi just fine. Things were getting much more complicated; he welcomed the opportunity for a little bit of silence and solitude after the tenseness of the Aoi-ya.

He was bound for disappointment. "Aoshi," Himura began with a slight frown. "Sessha has been meaning to ask – did you pick up Shishou's sword while you were up the mountain? It's the Hiten Mitsurugi heirloom, and sessha does not like the idea of it still being there without anyone to look after it, de gozaru."

Aoshi froze for a heartbeat, unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know him or wasn't watching, which Himura wasn't; but Aoshi wasn't such a fool as to think that the redhead missed it. _It's the heirloom? Kami-sama._

The heirloom of a five hundred year-old kenjutsu style and he had to tell him that it was missing. If Aoshi were a lesser man he might have lied.

As it was he debated the wisdom of telling Himura anything until he had more information.

"The sword was gone when we got there," he finally admitted in a low voice, a little faster than was his usual tone, which was the only hint that he wanted to get it out of the way.

It didn't help.

"_What?"_ Himura's head snapped around, his narrowed eyes shocked and disbelieving, glinting with amber highlights, and Aoshi grimaced inwardly.

He didn't get a chance to explain further, though, because they were interrupted by a strangled shriek, abruptly cut off, a nearby ki suddenly overlapped by one that was eerily familiar. Without even looking at each other, conversation all but forgotten, the pair were instantly in motion. They ran towards the sound, two swift shadows in amongst other shadows, even as both the ki were extinguished.

They came to an alley not far ahead, its narrow confines limiting them to entering one at a time. Aoshi, closer to the entrance, made it first, his white obi whipping around the corner behind him and spare hand ready on the guarded hilt of his primary kodachi.

The first thing he saw was the pale face of a clearly dead woman, her long hair draping over the ground, her green clothes dark in the gloom; but he barely got more than a glimpse before that familiar ki suddenly exploded out of the shadows right in front of him.

Instinctively he ducked, drawing his kodachi in one swift movement as dulled claws swept over him with a breeze that rustled his hair. He sensed Himura launch himself off the ground behind him, somersaulting overhead with a descending flash of his blade. Aoshi's own sword flipped upwards at the same time, only for them both to carve through shadow in the instant that the ki flickered and disappeared once again.

Less than a moment later it reappeared again _above_ Himura, just as the redhead was landing, but with a graceful twist he blocked, those sharp claws falling with a screech upon the metal of his saya. Aoshi was already moving, his second blade drawn and sheath thrown down, his twin kodachi gleaming as they sliced through wiry flesh. _Kodachi Nitou-ryu, Onmyou Kousa!_

There wasn't even time for the beast to cry out; the pieces of its corpse tumbled to the ground all around Himura, splattering liquid over the close walls but missing the agile swordsman as he dodged. Then there was stillness, the battle having been conducted with all the skilled quiet of the two warriors. Wordlessly Aoshi returned to the entrance of the alley to procure a nearby lantern as Himura cautiously approached what remained of whatever manner of creature had attacked them.

A few moments later the ninja returned, shielded flames casting a faint circle of light across the beast, and in slightly stunned silence they stared down at the strewn remnants of coarse, sinewy hide, wicked talons and muscular limbs, all lying in a pool of rapidly congealing black blood.

"I think," Aoshi said quietly, "We've found your master's 'shadow'."

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Bokken – wooden sword_

_Hitokiri – literally, 'manslayer'_

_Kenjutsu – the practise of swordsmanship_

_Kodachi – a short sword between the length of a wakizashi (a conventional short sword) and a normal katana_


	6. In Shadow's Wake

**A/N:**_I feel guilty. A little over a month since I last updated, for a story with which you all are used to weekly updates… sorry, sorry! I'm terrible at updating on time unless the chapters are already written, which chapter 6 wasn't, although it was more than half done at the time. I blame inspiration from other fandoms for putting off finishing it._

_Anyway. This story will only be updated monthly from now on, and I'll try my hardest to stick to that, I promise. I still know what's going on with it, so hopefully I don't lose out._

_All that said, I also feel very stupid. Why? Because the title isn't right. (sweatdrops) it's actually supposed to be '**Where** Shadow Reigns', not 'When'. Somehow my mind got stuck in reverse and put the title I'd toyed with previously instead of the updated one. (feels very silly) hopefully it's not so great a change that no one will notice, and my apologies._

_… oh, and I should warn you for Chou's potty mouth in this chapter… s'not too bad, but still. _

* * *

** VI **

**IN SHADOW'S WAKE**

Saitou frowned.

Chou shuddered, looking at that frown, wondering what had the wolf's britches in a knot this time and hoping he could get away without retribution. Somehow, whenever Saitou was unhappy, it was Chou who suffered.

Right now the blond spy was reclining on the squashy blue sofa by the wall, as far away from Saitou as he could get without leaving the room. He was eyeing the policeman warily under the guise of looking out the broad windows behind him, although he did note somewhat absently that the sill was tinged with the golden-green of impending dawn.

_Man, I just can't catch a break,_ Chou had been thinking grumpily, dissatisfied with the fact that he had stayed up _all_ night, _again,_ because Mister Tight-ass wouldn't let him leave.

That's when Saitou had frowned and Chou had freaked, convinced that the wolf had somehow heard what he was thinking. But the seconds ticked by and Saitou did nothing but flip though sheaves of paper with a rustle, his frown deepening with every page and his concentration focussed to the point that he wasn't even chewing on one of his cigarettes.

So Chou slumped back into the sofa, not daring to speak lest he interrupt this very rare and valuable instance in which Saitou seemed too deep in thought to bother noticing him.

The fact was, Saitou had all but forgotten about Chou hours ago. For all he knew the blond spy could have left and Saitou wouldn't have noticed or cared.

And if he had, he might have pretended otherwise, because for once Chou had come through, no matter how unintentionally or ignorantly. Besides, it was much more entertaining to have the spy on tenterhooks; he never knew what Saitou was going to do next, which was just the way Saitou liked it.

Regardless, Saitou had much more important things to be thinking about than intimidating the broom-head.

Because apparently all of the victims had more in common than just their reclusive natures.

First there were the yakuza; lowlifes and scum even among their own kind, useless in fights or strategy except as cannon fodder. Then there were the beggars, all either having been 'set loose' by the crime lords or in the pit of bankruptcy because of extortion or gambling debts, also precipitated by said crime lords.

But it was those with jobs that interested him the most… somehow, all of their businesses or the businesses they worked for were tied back in some way to the yakuza. Some of them were probably upstanding members of society, with no knowledge of their superiors' corruption; in the end it seemed to be their innate, solitary natures which picked them out as potential victims.

But every single one of them were, in some way, well within reach of the yakuza's hand. It probably would have been simple to find out their habits, their routines, to discover whether they were suited to whatever twisted purposes the mastermind had.

The last batch of notes Chou had brought in had given him the clue, and with some intensive checking he had managed to crack the riddle of the middle-class victims. However, that just let him to another problem: there were Kami-knew-how-many yakuza groups in Kyoto and given how pressing the situation was Saitou didn't particularly want to wait around to gather information delicately.

Especially considering the _other_ case that was plaguing the Kyoto police force.

Not long after the murders had started than did people begin disappearing without a trace, and the situation was even more bewildering than the killings; there really _wasn't_ any connection between victims. Saitou had checked himself – the timing between the beginnings of the crimes had struck him as too coincidental, so he'd managed to get the records as a part of his own research. It hadn't helped, so he hadn't looked at it in a while, but he was certain it was linked to his own case somehow. The sooner he figured out who was going around killing people and why, the sooner he might actually get a lead for those idiots to follow on the second case.

Since there had been no actual deaths to record, it wasn't considered nearly as important… except when one considered that the number of disappearances surpassed that of the deaths, and was on the rise.

Fortunately for Saitou, Chou's information had again provided answers. All the victims were connected to completely different yakuza groups, it was true, and each of those yakuza groups had completely different sponsors… or so it seemed.

Until one dug a little deeper, and saw that at least one of each of their sponsors were actually a cover for a single man.

A single, very _wealthy_ man living on the outskirts of the nicer side of Kyoto.

Very neat. It had taken Saitou two weeks to find him out, and that was only because Saitou had resources at his disposal that most other police officers didn't.

Wolfishly Saitou smiled, amber eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he lit another cigarette and put it to his lips, oblivious to the rising sun and the spiky-haired blonde who sat, shivering with dread, on the sofa.

* * *

A wing erupted from the darkness in a swirl of shadow.

Hiko ducked beneath it, the leathery membrane grazing his hair, his saya spinning in his grip to bat aside a sudden, sweeping claw. _This is getting old,_ he thought angrily, just before a tail followed from behind. He somersaulted over the top, blocking another talon that came towards him, hardly landing before he was off again, dodging, parrying, slipping in-between shadows like a shadow himself. _Very very old. As in, I haven't had a moment's peace since we came back into Kyoto!_

"Katsura," he snarled towards his semi-absent companion, stifling a chill that threatened to make him shudder and for a moment thinking he saw frost whispering over his armguards in the wake of the claws that scraped over them. "Give me some sort of opening, damn it!"

"They're in the city," Katsura's level voice sounded, but Hiko didn't have time to place it. Instead the bear-like swordsman caught a flash of the shade's faded blue clothes as he spun on his heel to avoid one of the yajuu, the former politician's own movements followed by strange ripples which Hiko recognised as the 'membrane' between the afterlife and the Wold, the very shadows in which the beasts attacked.

"I don't care!" Hiko roared, knocking one of the yajuu aside with a broad sweep of his sheathed sword and in the process catching Katsura through the stomach. The shade blurred but otherwise didn't react, not even when Hiko followed the wide motion through and cut him in half a second time with a modified Ryushousen, catching a second of the beasts on his saya and flinging it back into the darkness.

"Their numbers are thinner on the outskirts is what I mean. This way." Katsura turned and strode a few steps away, his figure dimming the further away he went.

_Easy for him!_ Hiko fumed wordlessly, his saya spinning in his hand to ward off a flurry of quills. His feet were light on the tamped dirt as he swung around in a feint before slipping around the yajuu in the same direction that Katsura had taken, grumpily reflecting that at least he got to carve the Ishin Shishi up a few times.

Although it wasn't nearly as satisfying as knocking his baka deshi into a waterfall, he'd take what he could get.

A few minutes later they both came to a halt on what Hiko assumed was the outskirts of Kyoto, but considering everything was still steeped in shadow he had to rely on Katsura's word.

Just another thing about this whole situation which Hiko was less than pleased about.

"I should have thought of this," Katsura sighed, frustrated. "The yajuu tend to gather near shrines. It's where the newly-dead congregate as well."

"So you said," Hiko answered in a coldly dry tone, trying to figure out how much lighter his surroundings had gotten and giving up. It was too difficult to tell anymore, although now he was able to make out shapes just beyond the threshold of his sight, shapes which might have been trees or bushes. "The _second_ part. You seem to have forgotten the first."

"Yes," Katsura said, abashed. "Sometimes, if they're fast enough, the yajuu can snatch up their souls before they pass on fully. Or they can subvert them. Most of the yajuu are just souls who are twisted beyond recognition, living or dead. I have no doubt that that was the fate of Shishio Makoto, for instance."

Katsura had explained before that shrines were the places where the walls between the living world, the Shadowold and the afterlife were thinnest, which made them the best places for Okami to break through if she was using any kind of a gateway. But, as Hiko growled inwardly, it didn't help if he couldn't _get_ to any of them.

He mastered his annoyance with a supreme effort, but didn't manage to curb the sarcasm of his next words. "Any other ideas?"

Katsura was silent, but Hiko could tell by the way his head was bowed that he was thinking; he had one arm wrapped around his waist with the other leaning on it, his hand up to his lips. Every now and then his eyes would flicker up and away, looking into nothingness, and Hiko could feel that strange wisp of voices over his skin which implied he was getting suggestions from the other shades.

_My life is too strange. This is not the sort of thing I expected I'd be doing when I learned the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu._

"I suppose that's possible," Katsura murmured absently against the smooth back of his hand, and then clarified without waiting for Hiko to ask or turning to face the taller man. "Okami might also be using a patron in the living world to maintain her presence there, which means they themselves will have a link _here._ We could get some information from them."

Hiko stared, revulsion momentarily making him at a loss for words. "A patron?" he repeated, repulsed by the implications. "You mean someone actually lets her place them here _willingly?_"

Katsura's mouth twisted humourlessly. "Oh yes. This place has a kind of power most people can't imagine. Some people can even sense it, if fleetingly, especially at night – that's the time that the walls are thinnest. But the only way to ever gain this power is through her. Okami."

Hiko couldn't help it. He shuddered, his skin crawling at the very thought of being allied with that… _woman._ To cover it, he snapped, "Well, which direction, or are we just going to wander randomly through the city until we find a signpost?"

Katsura just smiled tolerantly in a gesture so like Hiko's master that it made him want to cringe, because that misleading smile was invariably followed by a whack on the head. _Something I can do without._ With a frustrated snarl Hiko whirled around to stalk back in the direction of the city.

Only to find himself abruptly on a long-forgotten battlefield, the hard ground strewn with bodies, stained with blood, the sky overcast and rumbling distantly with thunder. The forest around him was sparse, the trees spindly and dead, illuminated by flashes of remote lightning.

And standing with his back to him was a figure in a familiar, sweeping mantle, white hair which fell to broad shoulders being caught by the wind, a bloodstained sword held by his side, standing on the corpses of the fallen. Flabbergasted, for once in his life, Hiko could only stare. "Shishou?"

The figure turned slowly, the high cheeks and heavy brow lit up by the storm, lips raised into that forbearing smile.

For an instant. Then the expression changed, turning into a smirk, a sneer, the familiar, wood-hilted nihontou at the swordsman's side lifting as he crouched in preparation for an attack Hiko knew only too well, but couldn't even move to defend against.

And then his master was coming at him, fast, too fast, and with a jolt Hiko realized that this was _real_ and the old man was going to kill him –

A hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched, the vision disappearing into a shadow and fog Hiko would never have thought he would be happy to see. He was abruptly aware of the fact that he was trembling and he knew he was pale, that his eyes were wide, but his mind was still trying to catch up to what he'd seen.

"What –"

"Did you see something?" Katsura demanded sharply, and the sound of his voice made Hiko break out of his shock, the swordsman shaking off his numbness with casual ease, his face closing down, eyes going blank.

"A battlefield." he said flatly, and Katsura let out a long breath.

"A dreaming. Shimatta!" Katsura cursed uncharacteristically, his mouth drawn grimly tight. "I didn't think you were up for them yet."

"Please explain." Hiko's voice was quiet and devoid of anything, even of grimness. It was just empty. Whatever it was he had seen, Katsura knew it had hit him hard, especially since he didn't have any forewarning whatsoever.

"I told you that this was the place where nightmares are found," he said quietly, in deference to the taller man's manner. "Everything you've ever feared or dreamed is here. A dreaming is when you see something out of your life or your mind, brought into existence by your deepening connection to the Shadowold. They don't begin unless you've faded enough for your ki to imprint on the Wold. They don't end until it's over."

"Life flashing before my eyes," Hiko murmured, staring expressionlessly into the unseen distance, and Katsura nodded, squelching an unnerved chill at the taller man's utter stillness, his complete emotional blackout.

"But being 'over' doesn't necessarily mean death," the dark-haired shade added as encouragingly as he could manage. "If we can just get more information on those chains, 'over' could mean escape as well."

"Then," Hiko responded with steel in his voice, his eyes narrowing at a point in front of him, almost as though he could see the shades standing there and watching him with mixed reactions of interest, scorn and trepidation. "We'll just have to make sure that's what it means."

* * *

"Kenshin! Where have you _been?_"

Kaoru's strident voice was the first thing Kenshin and Aoshi heard when they walked into the wide common room, with Misao's squealing "Aoshi-sama!" being a close second. Before he could control himself Kenshin grimaced, his temples already throbbing painfully both from sleep deprivation and some general all-around stress.

"Around, de gozaru," he answered Kaoru's question as brightly as he could manage and knowing he failed when the worry in her expression won out over the anger.

"We had things we needed to discuss," Aoshi said flatly, effectively halting anyone – most notably Misao, Yahiko and Sano, with Shiro and Okon looking curious but keeping their peace – from interrogating the redhead. "And we needed somewhere to discuss them before we could talk to anyone else."

"Well, you've discussed them, so talk," Sano growled without much hostility in his voice at all, gesturing at them with a pair of chopsticks still holding a wad of rice from breakfast.

Aoshi ignored him. "Is Okina here?" he asked of Okon and Shiro instead.

"He should be coming down to breakfast –" Okon began, before the shoji behind her slid open with a thud, revealing the old man still in the previous day's clothes.

"Now," Shiro finished with a slight grin, putting the tray he had been holding on the low table in front of him and whipping the towel he'd been using to grasp it back up over his shoulder.

Okina didn't even seem to notice the other ninjas; his sharp eyes focussed on Aoshi and Kenshin, his expression devoid of his trademark playfulness but with the triumphant lines which marked a sleepless but very fruitful night. "Good, you're back," he said without preamble, as though he'd known all along where they were and hadn't worried at all. "I have news, but I suggest we eat it over a good breakfast."

Kenshin smiled in reply to the knowing twinkle in the old man's eye, not bothering to argue. He'd had to force himself to eat the night before and he needed to eat more than ever because he hadn't slept. _I'll have to take care of that soon,_ he thought tiredly as he seated himself beside Sano, not even managing to give a nod of acknowledgment up at Okon as she served him. _Megumi-dono is right. I'm no good to Shishou exhausted._

He just hoped what they saw last night wouldn't keep him from his sleep… and knew that it probably would.

For a while they all ate in silence, or as much silence as could be had with the rapid pace that Yahiko and Sano tended to eat; but even then, Kenshin noticed that both of them seemed a little slower than usual and felt a pang. _I wish I didn't have to drag them into this… but they wouldn't have let me come otherwise._ The thought inspired mixed feelings, both fear and gratitude, though he had no idea which one was winning.

"What news do you have?" Aoshi's soft voice broke the silence as the tall ninja placed down his chopsticks, his eyes shaded by his bangs, and only by listening closely could Kenshin hear the tiredness in his voice.

So, he saw, could Okina, who regarded the younger man impassively for a moment before beginning. "You were right. Most of the murders in the past few months – aside from those which have been proven to be Shishio's doing – all have the same pattern." Briefly he described the way the corpses had been found: unmarked aside from the occasional blemishes which suggested restraints, cold to the point of frost, all of them left undiscovered for days.

"A few weeks after the first of these murders," Okina continued, apparently oblivious to the way Kaoru shuddered or Yahiko looked green, although Kenshin managed to offer them both a reassuring smile. "Came the disappearances. They don't have a pattern, but the timing is coincidental, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps not," Aoshi murmured, deep in thought, but he didn't give any sign to what he was thinking and Kenshin followed his lead, remaining silent.

_If I can just protect them from these happenings a little longer,_ he thought, his gaze drawn to Sano's set jaw and Kaoru's distressed eyes.

"Have any of your contacts made mention of a one-eyed woman?"

Aoshi's question came out of the blue. Okina's brow shot skyward and he scrutinised the pair before him closely for hints as to what they'd been doing all night. All he saw – all he knew he would see – was a slight, red-haired man and a young, unreadable okashira, both of them staring at him expectantly. They clearly knew something and just as clearly weren't going to give anything away until their suspicions, whatever they were, were confirmed.

_Very well. I didn't really expect them to say anything anyway._

"No, but they haven't been looking. If you like I can ask them to keep an eye out."

Aoshi nodded. "Do so. Make it a priority."

Still eyeing the expressionless ninja speculatively, Okina added, "I do have one more thing; the name of the officer in charge of the case." For a moment he paused, unable to resist the temptation of being dramatic and savouring the eager silence. "Fujita Goro."

He almost chuckled inwardly at the various reactions. Misao snapped to attention, hands on her crossed legs and staring at him in disbelief; Yahiko leaped to his feet with an incredulous yell; Kaoru gasped, her hand flying to her lips; Kenshin looked stunned; Aoshi, predictably, didn't show much reaction at all. Okina wouldn't have been surprised if the other ninja already knew about the one called Fujita Goro.

But the most interesting reaction was Sanosuke. Okina caught the utter shock in his eyes, shock and something else, something akin to hope or perhaps even hurt. Then his face was lowered, shaded by the dark fringe hanging over his red bandanna. "So he's alive, is he?" he said with a forced smirk, in a voice that was just barely controlled, though Okina couldn't have said for sure which emotion was threatening to break loose. They had all been sorry to hear about Saitou's demise, but of them all Sano had, perhaps, been hit the hardest. Kenshin was used to people dying, even if he didn't advocate it; Sano was younger, much less hardened by death, and despite the way Saitou had goaded him Okina thought that he respected the Mibu wolf somewhere deep inside.

"Yes, he's alive," Okina said simply. "And he'll probably have more information on the issue."

"If Saitou has taken charge of this case, then it must be a serious matter indeed, de gozaru," Kenshin murmured. Aoshi just got up gracefully with a flick of his obi ribbons, picking up his kodachi from beside him.

"Coming, Battousai?" he asked dispassionately, as though it didn't matter to him either way. Quickly the redhead scrambled to his feet, fitting his sakabatou through his obi.

"But you just got back!" Kaoru objected, and Kenshin gifted her with a gentle, if tired, smile.

"Saitou will not wait, de gozaru," he said. "It's best if we go now. Perhaps he can help us find the one-eyed woman."

"What's with this one-eyed woman? Who the hell is she, anyway?" Yahiko demanded belligerently, but he didn't receive an answer. Instead Aoshi simply left the room, followed closely by Kenshin, who cast an apologetic expression over at his friends before disappearing.

For a few moments there was silence, Okina mentally counting down the seconds as he sipped his tea impassively.

Then, "I'm going with," Sano grunted, and was gone.

* * *

"…can't believe that bastard didn't tell us anything. Well, I can believe it, but I don't have to like it, the guy's just asking for a fist in the mouth as soon as I set my eyes on him, couldn't care less if it's in the middle of the police station or not…"

Kenshin sighed inwardly, equal parts amused, exasperated and agreeing with Sano's aggressive rambling. The redhead was fully aware of how Saitou felt about him, but the wolf was one of those that he respected more than most people could ever understand. He hadn't been happy about the fact at all when he believed his rival had fallen. He was just old enough and experienced enough to understand why and to be able to keep his peace about it, even though he felt some faint stirrings of anger borne of unnecessary worry and grief.

Sano, on the other hand, was young, passionate, and was never really one for keeping things in, so Kenshin and Aoshi were treated to a constant homily on Saitou's many faults and exactly what Sano would have liked to do to him when they caught up to him. Anyone else would have thought he hated Saitou with a passion; anyone, that is, without the ability to read ki as both Kenshin and Aoshi could. Kenshin could sense the roil of Sano's anger and irritation and yes, relief, soft undercurrents beneath his words.

He could definitely relate to the younger man's attitude. He wasn't looking forward to talking to Saitou again – hearing those scathing remarks, the cold eyes which had dared the hitokiri to arise – but knowing he was alive made some previously unnoticed weight lift off Kenshin's shoulders.

"Maa maa, Sano," he broke in soothingly when Sano paused to take a deep breath, and the tall fighter kicked irritably at a random stone on the near-deserted path. It was too early for many people to be up yet, but considering how long the case had been going on there was no doubt Saitou would be at work already. "If you attack him he might not give us information."

"I can wait 'til after," was Sano's reply, and Kenshin couldn't help but smile wryly, even as they approached the new-looking timber building which was the station.

The man at the door was very helpful, much to Kenshin's surprise, until Aoshi explained that many of the lower ranks of the Kyoto law enforcement were very supportive of the Oniwabanshu's efforts to keep the criminals in check. Remembering how genial Kaoru had described the townspeople as being towards the ninjas, way back when they had moved to stop Shishio's men from setting fire to Kyoto, Kenshin could do nothing but accept the fact and be grateful for it.

As they moved through the corridors Sano's grumbling degenerated into low mumbles, the street fighter at least being aware that mouthing off about an officer in the middle of his home territory wasn't a good way to go about scoring points.

When he flung open to wooden door to the resource room, however, all thoughts of restraint fled Sano's mind.

"Eh? What the hell are you guys doing here?" Chou asked disinterestedly, booted feet up on a paper-strewn table, arms behind his head, one eye closed, apparently having been lazing about.

In three strides Sano was across the tiled floor. His fist caught Chou on the chin with enough force to send him and his chair toppling to the ground with a crash, his red-and-yellow kimono fluttering.

"Sano!"

Ignoring Kenshin's aghast exclamation, Sano stooped and lifted Chou back up by the collar, eyes narrowed furiously and teeth grinding. "Why didn't you tell us he was still alive?" he demanded angrily, half holding the spy up, half pulling him down to his face.

Grasping his jaw with a grimace, Chou eyed him with a mixture of disdain and wariness, not even bothering to ask how he'd known. The black-clad ninja in the doorway was answer enough. "You're an idiot, bird-head. I'm not crazy enough to disobey the wolf's orders, not when he's the only reason I escaped jail-time."

_Damn. Not much I can say to that._ With a snort of disgust at both the blonde spy and his own lack of a retort, Sano dropped him. Chou stumbled back into his chair just as Aoshi came up behind him, still with his saya in hand.

"Perhaps you can give us the information we're looking for, then," the ninja suggested blandly, and Chou looked up at him from where he'd been rubbing his jaw.

"How should I know anything? I just bring the stuff in, I don't look through it. That's _his_ job. B'sides, you didn't miss him by much. Sometime 'bout an hour ago he found something and went haring off."

"Where did he go, de gozaru ka?" Kenshin asked softly, but Chou just shrugged.

"Beats me. Never tells anyone anything unless he absolutely has to, that one."

"Sessha knows," Kenshin said dryly, Aoshi already heading towards the open door. "We'll come back later, de gozaru. Arigato."

_Damn. Just when we get a lead._ Sano shot an evil look back at Chou as he turned around to follow Kenshin and Aoshi, and the spy eyed him suspiciously.

"Might want to be careful, bird-head. I could have you arrested, you know, assaulting an officer and all that."

Sano snorted his contempt of that remark, lifting a hand to wave mockingly as he vanished through the doorway. Chou wasn't as good as Saitou for relieved his tension, but he did feel better than before.

Still, once out of sight he slouched broodingly, staring at Kenshin's red-clothed back with his hands jammed in the pockets of his pants.

_Now what?_

* * *

Okami was drifting in a state of nonentity, just barely in contact with the plane of the living. Distantly she could feel the Wold, well within her reach, like a shadow she could touch if she just stretched out her hand, but she had no reason to be there and wasn't inclined to leave. Everything was going flawlessly.

She could feel the hum of her patron's ki, not exactly powerful but enough for her purposes. It was her road, her connection between this plane and her birthplace. She often used it as such; although she rarely needed to return to the Wold herself, she could use it to bring her pets to her or to draw power from one side to the other, to view both planes at once at the cost of being able to interact with either one. That was the state she was in now, neither here nor there. She wanted to keep an eye on her prize; she knew he was wandering, knew that the Shades were helping him, but it mattered very little to her what _they_ did. They were untouchable, even for her, but by the same token they couldn't do much more than offer information, and most of it wrong.

_So vibrant,_ she found herself thinking, peering into the Wold, where the flame that was the swordsman's ki was lit like a beacon in the shadows. She could do so much with him, so much once this was over. His physical body would probably be dead long before then, but she knew her chains would hold irregardless; for now, his link to the living world would only help her, for the same reasons that her patron's ki did.

And this city, so full of memory, the memory of bloodshed and hatred and fear; she could feel it like a soft, caressing shadow, creeping through the streets, granting obscurity to her pets. The more they took the stronger they grew.

She'd have to feed again soon herself, she knew. Her pets could pick any random human off the street, at least now that they had a foothold, but she was still limited in her choices. She needed as much strength as she could get, as much as she could siphon into the Wold, and only one type of ki could do that.

_Fortunately,_ she mused, turning to look out over the flickering sparkles that were those foolish mortals, _a human city of this size has everything I need._

A second later her ethereal eyes were momentarily blinded, her vision made dazzling white by the life force that had somehow approached. It was near, so very near, and for a moment she was both shocked at its power and angry that she'd let herself lapse. Although, to be fair, she hadn't even known the hermit had been in the area; what was the likelihood of another strong ki being around?

In her long experience, not much. And yet here it was; not nearly as powerful as the prize she'd bound not so long ago, but still exceptional, still more than worth her time and effort.

Just _how_ much it was worth became evident in mere seconds. The blaze never dimmed, so close it was to her position, to her patron's home, but she could see that its flames were just barely leashed, just barely in control. This man was so near to the Wold already; he danced on the knife's edge, as that human saying went.

It would not take much to twist him further.

If Okami had had a body at that point, she would have been smiling wickedly. _Oh yes… this one would make a fine addition to my pets._

With long-refined skill, she took hold of her awareness and shaped it into a suitable form.

* * *

Aoshi abruptly stopped in his tracks, so suddenly that it almost made Sano crash into him. The spiky-haired young man cursed, turning around with a scowl to shout at the ninja – he still needed to let off some steam – but Aoshi was turned slightly to the side and didn't even seem to notice what had happened, his eyes focussed intently on something neither the street fighter nor their redheaded companion could see.

"Aoshi? What is it, de gozaru ka?" Kenshin asked worriedly, his gaze locked for a moment on the ninja, who stared at the timber building beside them as though he was seeing through it, before the rurouni warily scanned the tamped road and the dimmed alleys nearby.

"It's back," Aoshi said in a low voice, his hand tightening in the saya beside him. "That ki is back."

He could feel it, somewhere distant, perhaps near the outskirts of Kyoto – it had just _appeared_ as it so often did, and like before, it had changed slightly. It felt like a roiling, eager black cloud hanging over the city – over _his_ city –

_Over the wolf's city._

"Saitou." Kenshin's eyes snapped to Aoshi, on alert, and Sano looked at him grimly, for once not playing up. "Saitou's there."

Aoshi knew it; if he focussed he could _just_ feel the wolf's ki, almost hidden by the possessive waves of the other.

"Can you get us there?" Sano demanded.

Aoshi nodded once, his entire body a tense, coiled spring, ready for action. "Follow me."

* * *

Saitou stood in the scant shadows beneath the thick canopy of the trees just by the roadside, his amber eyes lit up eerily by the red glow of his cigarette. Calmly blowing out a stream of smoke, he regarded the tall wrought-iron fence of the property on the other side of the street, his keen gaze taking note of every flaw and obstacle.

Flicking the butt away, he decided to go with his original assessment: the best way in would be through the front gate.

Gracefully he detached himself from the shadow of the tree trunk, walking with long-legged strides towards the building which housed his prey.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Maa maa – something conciliatory, like 'there, there'_

_Yakuza – Japanese crime lords, like the mafia_


End file.
